UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


UJNlVJ-j;K^>n  Y  or  CALJLbUKINlA 
LOS  /aNGELES 


THE  NOVELS  AND  LETTERS  OF 

JANE   AUSTEN 

Edited  by 
REGINALD  BRIMLEY  JOHNSON 

with  an  Introduction  by 
WILLIAM  LYON  PHELPS,    Ph.D. 


Complete  in  Twelve  Volumes 


4     69   Q  r. 


STONELEIGH  EDITION 


TTiis  Edition  of  the  Novels  and  Letters  of  Jane  Austen 
is  limited  to  twelve  hundred  and  fifty  numbered  and 
registered  copies  of  which  this  is 


Copy  No. 


xmz 


THE  NOVELS  AND  LETTERS  OF 

fANI 


R.  BRII..  ON 

with  an  Intj 

PROr,  WILLIAM   L^  :.  Pn.  D. 

Professor  o;  <  n, 

Yale  U,: 


NEW    YORK  PHILADELPHIA 

."MiaoAT  lift  lo  arioisrT: I ^  tne^m-Ibw  '.»dt  nyn  nint 

emoVI  .aiM  lo  snoil  [  auobtfto  'nit  lie  [>iir 


hi  vaJn  were  the  well-meant  condescensions  of  Sir  Thomas, 
and  ail  the  officious  prognfjstigations  of  Mrs.  Norris 
that  she  would  be  a  good  eirl  fpace  16^ 


THE  NOVELS  AND  LETTERS  OF 

JANE  AUSTEN 

Edited  by 

R.  BRIMLEY  JOHNSON 

with  an  Introduction  by 

PROF,  WILLIAM   LYON   PHELPS,  Pn.  D. 

Lamp  son  Professor  of  English  Literature, 
Yale  University. 


MANSFIELD  PARK 


Part  I 

\A^ith   Colored   Illustrations  by 
C.  E.  and  H.  M.  BROCK 


Stoneleigh  Abbey,  Warwickshire 


FRANK    S.    HOLBY 

NE\A^    YORK  PHILADELPHIA 

MCM  VI 


I      v.^      x_^ 


PREFACE 

^  Mr.  Austen-Leigii  tells  us  that  this  novel,  like 
Emma  and  Persuasion,  was  written  betA\cen 
Feb.  1811  and  Aug.  1814,  It  was  published  in 
1814,  and  the  first  edition  was  all  sold  by  tlie 
Xo^Tmber  of  that  year. 

The    following    editions    appeared    in    INliss 
Austen's  life-time: — • 

A.  INIansfield  Park:  a  Xovel,  in  three  vf)!- 
umes.  l^y  the  author  of  "  Sense  and  Sensi- 
bility "  and  "Pride  and  Prejudice."  Lou- 
don: Printed  for  T.  Egerton,  Military 
Library,  Whitehall.     1814. 

[Vols.  I.  and  III.  printed  by  G,  Sidney,  Nor- 
thumberland Street,  Strand;  Vol.  II.  by  C. 
Roworth,  Bell-yard,  Temple  Bar.] 

B.  ISIansfield  Park:  a  Novel,  in  three  vol- 
umes. By  the  author  of  "  Pride  and  Preju- 
dice." Second  Edition.  London:  Printed 
for  J.  Murray,  Albemarle  Street.    1816. 

[Vol.  I.  printed  by  J.  Moyes,  Greville  Street, 
Hatton  Garden,  London;  Vol.  II.  by  C.  Roworth, 
Bell-yard,  Temple  Bar;  Vol.  III.  appears  to  have 
been  set  up  by  a  third  printer,  though  no  name  i* 
given.] 

[v] 


PREFACE 

The  book  has  since  been  brought  out  by  vari- 
ous pubUshers,  and  in  several  series.  This  edition 
is  printed  from  B.  In  the  few  cases  where  errors 
have  crept  into  the  text,  the  reading  of  A  is  fol- 
lowed, and  this  is  indicated  by  the  words  being 
enclosed  in  square  brackets.  Any  other  devia- 
tions from  the  text  of  B  are  explained  in  foot- 
notes. 

]Miss  Austen  alludes  in  her  letters  to  her 
brother  Henry's  opinion  of  this  book.  ^'  March 
2. — His  approbation  is  hitherto  even  equal  to  my 
wishes.  He  says  it  is  different  from  the  other 
two,  but  does  not  appear  to  think  it  at  all  infe- 
rior. He  has  only  married  JNIrs.  R.  I  am  afraid 
he  has  got  through  the  most  entertaining  part. 
He  took  to  Lady  B.  and  Mrs.  N.  most  kindly, 
and  gives  great  praise  to  the  drawing  of  the  char- 
acters. He  understands  them  all,  likes  Fanny; 
and,  I  think,  foresees  how  it  will  all  be.  .  .  .  He 
is  going  on  with  '  Mansfield  Park.'  He  admires 
H.  Crawford:  I  mean  properly,  as  a  clever, 
pleasant  man."  Again,  on  March  5. — "  Heru-y 
has  this  moment  said  he  likes  my  M.P.  better 
and  better;  he  is  in  the  third  volume.  I  believe 
now  he  has  changed  his  mind  as  to  foreseeing  the 
end;  he  said  yesterday,  at  least,  that  he  defied 
anybody  to  say  whether  H.  C.  would  be  reformed 
or  would  forget  Fanny  in  a  fortnight." 

On  another  occasion  ^liss  Austen  also  writes 
[vi] 


PREFACE 

that  one  of  her  friends  had  "  a  great  idea  of  being 
Fanny  Price,"  and  tliat  Edmund  Bertram, 
h'ke  her  other  special  favourite,  Mr.  Knightley, 
was  "  very  far  from  being  what  I  know  Englisli 
gentlemen  often  are."  She  told  her  family  tljat 
the  "  something  considerable  "  which  Mrs.  Norris 
contributed  to  William  Price's  outfit  was  one 
pound. 


[vii] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

In  vain  were  the  well-meant  condescensions  of  Sir  Thomas, 
and  all  the  oflficious  prognostigations  of  Mrs.  Norris 
that  she  would  be  a  good  girl  (page  16)       .      Frontispiece 

PAGE 

The  harp  arrived  and  she  played  with  the  greatest  oblig- 
ingness          91 

"I  am  come  to  make  my  own  apologies  for  keeping  you 

waiting" 96 

*'Miss  Price  all  alone!"  and  "My  dear  Fanny,  how  comes 

this?"  were  the  first  salutations 138 

He  could  not  help  giving  Mrs.  Norris  a  hint  that  her  advice 

might  have  been  interposed 266 

Dr.  Grant  himself  went  out  with  an  umbrella    .       .        .     1891 


MANSFIELD    PARK 


Mansfield  Park 


CHAPTER  1 

2-/  Q.  -2-  "i- 

ABOUT  thirty  years  ago,  Miss  Maria  Ward, 
of  Huntingdon,  with  only  seven  thou- 
sand pounds,  had  the  good  luck  to  capti- 
vate Sir  Thomas  Bertram,  of  Mansfield  Park, 
in  the  county  of  Northampton,  and  to  be  thereby 
raised  to  the  rank  of  a  baronet's  lady,  with  all 
the  comforts  and  consequences  of  an  handsome 
«4    house  and  large   income.     All    Huntingdon  ex- 
^    claimed  on  the  greatness  of  the  match,  and  her 
(     uncle,  the  lawyer,  himself,  allowed  her  to  be  at 
<     least  three  thousand  pounds  short  of  any  equit- 
able claim  to  it.     She  had  two  sisters  to  be  bene- 
fited by  her  elevation ;  and  such  of  their  acquaint- 
ance as  thought  Miss  Ward  and  Miss  Frances 
quite  as  handsome  as  Miss  INIaria,  did  not  scruple 
to  predict  their  marrying  with  almost  equal  ad- 
vantage. /But  there  certainly  are  not  so  many 
men  of  large  fortune  in  the  world  as  there  are 
pretty  women  to  deserve  thenL)    Miss  Ward,  at 
the  end  of    half-a-dozen    years, /found    herself 
obhged  to  be  attached  to  the  Rev.  Mr  Norris^a 

[1] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

friend  of  her  brother-in-law,  with  scarcely  any 
private  fortune,  (and  INIiss  Frances  fared  yet 
worse.  \  Miss  Ward's  match,  indeed,  when  it 
came  to  the  point,  was  not  contemptible;  Sir 
Thomas  being  happily  able  to  give  his  friend 
an  income  in  the  living  of  IMansfield;  and/ Mr 
and  Mrs  Norris  began  their  career  of  conjugal 
felicity  with  very  little  less  than  a  thousand  a- 
year.  J  But[]Miss  Frances  married,  in  the  common 
phrase,  to  disoblige  her  family,)  and  by  fixing  on 
a  lieutenant  of  marines,  without  education,  for- 
tune, or  connections,  did  it  very  thoroughly.  She 
could  hardly  have  made  a  more  untoward  choice. 
Sir  Thomas  Bertram  had  interest,  which,  from 
principle  as  well  as  pride— /from  a  general  wish 
of  doing  right,  and  a  desire  of  seeing  all  that 
were  connected  ^^'ith  him  in  situations  of  respect- 
ability^ he  would  have  been  glad  to  exert  for  the 
advantage  of  Lady  Bertram's  sister;  but  her 
husband's  profession  was  such  as  no  interest 
could  reach ;  and  before  he  had  time  to  devise  any 
other  method  of  assisting  them, ('an  absolute 
breach  between  the  sisters  had  taken  place.  It 
was  the  natural  result  of  the  conduct  of  each 
party ,J)and^  such  as  a  very  imprudentjnarriage 
almost  always  produces.  To  save  herself  from 
uselesTremnnsTfancer  INTrs  Price  never  wTote  to 
her  family, on  the  subject  till  actually  married. 
^dy  Bei'tranK  who  was  a  woman  of  very  tran- 
[2] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

qui!  feelings,  and  a  temper  remarkably  easy  ancL 
mdolent,  would  have  contented  herself  with 
"merelygiving  up  her  sister,  and  thinking  no  more 
of  the  matter ;  but  Mrs  Norris  had  a  spirit  of  ac- 
tivity, which  could  not  be  satisfied  till  she  had  writ- 
ten a  long  and  angry  letter  to  Fanny,  to  point 
out  the  folly  of  her  conduct,  and  threaten  her 
with  all  its  possible  ill  consequences.  JVIrs  Price, 
in  her  turn,  was  injured  and  angry;  and  an 
answer,  which  compreHended  eacHsister  in  its  bit- 
terness, and  bestowed  such  very  disrespectful  re- 
flections^on  the  pride  of  Sir  Thomas,  as  Mrs  Nor- 
ris could  not  possibly  keep  to  herself]  put  an  end 
to  all  intercourse  between  them  for  a  considerable 
period. 

(Their  homes  were  so  distant,  and  the  circles  in 
which  they  moved  so  distinct,  as  almost  to  pre- 
clude the  means  of  ever  hearing  of  each  other's 
existence  during  the  eleven  following  years^or,  at 
least,  to  make  it  very  wonderful  to  Sir  Thomas, 
that  Mrs  Norris  should  ever  have  it  in  her  power 
to  tell  them,  as  she  now  and  then  did,  in  an  angry 
voice,  that  Fanny  had  got  another  child.  /By  the 
end  of  eleven  years,  however,  Mrs  Price  could  no 
longer  afford  to  cherish  pride  or  resentment,  or  to 
lose  one  connection  that  might  possibly  assist  her.  j 
A  large  and  still  increasing  family,  an  husband 
disabled  for  active  service,  but  not  the  less  equal 
to  company  and  good  liquor,  and  a  very  small 

[3] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

income  to  supply  their  wants,  made  her  eager  to 
regain  the  friends  she  had  so  carelessly  sacrificed ; 
and  she  addressed  Lady  Bertram  in  a  letter  which 
spoke  so  much  contrition  and  despondence,  such 
a  superfluity  of  children,)  and  such  a  want  of 

njfnnst  pvprythjng  pjsp^t;  COuld  not  but  dispose 

them  all  to  a  reconciliation.  She  was  preparing 
for  herjiinth  lying-in;  and  after  bewailing  the 
circumstance,  and  imploring  their  countenance  as 
sponsors  to  the  expected  child,  she  could  not  con- 
ceal how  important  she  felt  they  might  be  to  the 
future  maintenance  of  the  eight  ah*eady  in  being. 
Her  eldest  was  a  boy  of  ten  years,  a  fine  spirited 
fellow,  who  longed  to  be  out  in  the  world;  but 
what  could  she  do?  Was  there  any  chance  of  his 
being  hereafter  useful  to  Sir  Thomas  in  the  con- 
cerns of  his  West  Indian  property?  No  situation 
would  be  beneath  him;  or  what  did  Sir  Thomas 
think  of  Woolwich?  or  how  could  a  boy  be  sent 
out  to  the  East  ? 

The  letter  was  not  unproductive.  It  re-estab- 
lished peace  and  kindness.  Sir  Thomas  sent 
friendly  advice  and  professions,  Lady  Bertram 
dispatched  money  and  baby-linen,  and  Mrs  Nor- 
ris  wrote  the  letters. 

Such  were  its  immediate  effects,  and  within  a 
twelve-month  a  more  important  advantage  to 
Mrs  Price  resulted  from  it.  Mrs  Norris  was 
often  observing  to  the  others  that  she  could  not 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

get  her  poor  sister  and  her  family  out  of  her  head, 
and  that,  much  as  they  had  all  done  for  her,  she 
seemed  to  be  wanting  to  do  more ;  and  at  length 
r  she  could  not  but  own  it  to  be  her  wish,  that  poor 
Mrs  Price  should  be  relieved  from  the  charge  and 
expense  of  one  child  entirely  out  of  her  great 
number.) 

"What  if  they  were  among  them  to  undertake 
the  care  of  her  eldest  daughter,  a  girl  now  nine 
years  old,  of  an  age  to  require  more  attention 
than  her  poor  mother  could  possibly  give?  The 
trouble  and  expense  of  it  to  them  would  be  noth- 
ing, compared  with  the  benevolence  of  the 
action."  Lady  Bertram  agreed  with  her  in- 
stantly. "I  think  we  cannot  do  better,"  said  she; 
"let  us  send  for  the  child." 

Sir  Thomas  could  not  give  so  instantaneous 
and  unqualified  a  consent.  He  debated  and  hesi- 
tated :  it  was  a  serious  charge ;  a  girl  so  brought 
up  must  be  adequately  provided  for,  or  (there 
would  be  cruelty  instead  of  kindness  in  taking 
her  from  her  family.]  He  thought  of  his  own 
four  children,  of  his  two  sons,  of  oousinsin  love, 
&c. ;  but  no  sooner  had  he  deliberately  begun  to 
state  his  objections,  than  Mrs  Norris  interrupted 
him  with  a  reply  to  them  all,  whether  stated  or 
not. 

"My  dear  Sir  Thomas,  I  perfectly  comprehend 
you,  and  do  justice  to/the  generosity  and  delicacy 

[5] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

of  your  notions,]  which,  indeed,  are  quite  of  a 
piece  with  your  general  conduct;  and  I  entirely 
agree  with  you  in  the  main  as  to  the  propriety  of 
doing  everything  one  could  by  way  of  providing 
for  a  child  one  had  in  a  manner  taken  into  one's 
own  hands ;  and  I  am  sure  I  should  be  the  last  per- 
son in  the  world  to  withhold  my  mite  upon  such 
an  occasion.  Having  no  children  of  my  own,  who 
should  I  look  to  in  any  little  matter  I  may  ever 
have  to  bestow,  but  the  children  of  my  sisters? 
and  I  am  sure  Mr  Norris  is  too  just — but  you 
know  I  am  a  woman  of  few  words  and  profes- 
sions. Do  not  let  us  be  frightened  from  a  good 
deed  by  a  trifle.  (Give  a  girl  an  education,  and 
introduce  her  properly  into  the  world,  and  ten  to 
one  but  she  has  the  means  of  settling  well,  with- 
out farther  expense  to  anybody. )  A  niece  of 
our's.  Sir  Thomas,  I  may  say,  or,  at  least,  of 
your's,  would  not  grow  up  in  this  neighbourhood 
without  many  advantages.  I  don't  say  she  would 
be  so  handsome  as  her  cousins.  I  dare  say  she 
would  not;  but  she  would  be  introduced  into  the 
societ}^  of  this  country  under  such  very  favour- 
able circumstances  as,  in  all  human  probability, 
would  get  her  a  creditable  establishment.  You 
are  thinking  of  your  sons ;  but  do  not  you  know 
that  of  all  things  upon  earth  that  is  the  least  likely 
to  happen ,\brought  up  as  they  would  be,  always 
together  like  brothers  and  sisters?    It  is  morally 

[6] 


lANSFIELD    PARK 


impossible.)  I  never  knew  an  instance  of  it.  It 
is,  in  fact  tne  only  sure  way  of  providing  against 
the  connection.  Suppose  her  a  pretty  girl,  and 
seen  by  Tom  or  Edmund  for  the  first  time  seven 
years  hence,  and  I  dare  say  there  would  be  mis- 
chief. The  very  idea  of  her  having  been  suffered 
to  grow  up  at  a  distance  from  us  all  in  poverty 
and  neglect,  would  be  enough  to  make  either  of 
the  dear,  sweet-tempered  boys  in  love  with  her. 
But  breed  her  up  with  them  from  this  time,  and 
suppose  her  even  to  have  the  beauty  of  an  angel, 
and  she  will  never  be  more  to  either  than  a  sister." 

"There  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  what  you 
say,"  replied  Sir  Thomas,  "and  far  be  it  from 
me  to  throw  any  fanciful  impediment  in  the  way 
of  a  plan  which  would  be  so  consistent  with  the 
relative  situations  of  each.  I  only  meant  to  ob- 
serve, that  it  ought  not  to  be  lightly  engaged  in, 
and  that  to  make  it  really  serviceable  to  Mrs 
Price,  and  creditable  to  ourselves,  we  must  secure 
to  the  child,  or  consider  ourselves  engaged  to  se- 
cure to  her  hereafter,  as  circumstances  may  arise, 
the  provision  of  a  gentlewoman,  if  no  such  es- 
tablishment should  offer  as  you  are  so  sanguine  in 
expecting." 

"I  thoroughly  understand  you,"  cried  Mrs 
Norris;  "you  are  everything  that  is  generous  and 
considerate,  and  I  am  sure  we  shall  never  dis- 
agree on  this  point.    Whatever  I  can  do,  as  you 

[7] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

well  know,  I  am  always  ready  enough  to  do  for 
the  good  of  those  I  love;  and,  though  I  could 
never  feel  for  this  little  girl  the  hundredth  part 
of  the  regard  I  bear  your  own  dear  children,  nor 
consider  her,  in  any  respect,  so  much  my  own,  I 
should  hate  myself  if  I  were  capable  of  neglect- 
ing her.  Is  not  she  a  sister's  child?  and  could  I 
bear  to  see  her  want  while  I  had  a  bit  of  bread  to 
give  her?  fMy  dear  Sir  Tliomas,  with  all  my 
faults  I  have  a  warm  heart  ;jand,  poor  as  I  am, 
would  rather  deny  myself  the  necessaries  of  life 
than  do  an  ungenerous  thing.  So,  if  you  are  not 
against  it,  I  will  ^vrite  to  my  poor  sister  to-mor- 
row, and  make  the  proposal ;  and,  as  soon  as  mat- 
ters are  settled,  /  will  engage  to  get  the  child  to 
Mansfield ;  you  shall  have  no  trouble  about  it.  My 
own  trouble,  you  know,  I  never  regard.  I  will 
send  Nanny  to  London  on  purpose,  and  she  may 
have  a  bed  at  her  cousin  the  saddler's,  and  the 


child  be  appointed  to  meet  her  there.  They  may 
easily  get  herefrom  Portsmouth  to  town  by  the 
coach,  under  the  care  of  any  creditable  person 
that  may  chance  to  be  going.  I  dare  say  there  is 
always  sonie  reputable  tradesman's  wife  or  other 
going  up.") 

Except  to\|he  attack  on  Nanny's  cousinji  Sir 
Thomas  no  longer  made  any  objection,  and/ a 
more  respectable,  though  less  economical  rendez- 
vous being  accordingly  substituted,\  everything 

[8] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"was  considered  as  settled,  and  the  pleasures  of  so 
benevolent  a  scheme  were  already  enjoyed.  The 
division  of  gratifying  sensations  ought  not,  in 
strict  justice,  to  have  been  equal;  forpir  Thomas 
was  fully  resolved  to  be  the  realand  consistent 
patron  of  the  selected  child j  and/Mrs  Norris  had 
not  the  least  intention  of  being  at  any  expense 
whatever  in  her  maintenance.^  As  far  as  walking, 
talking,  and  contriving  reached,  she  was  thor- 
oughly benevolent,  and/nobody  knew  better  how 
to  dictate  liberality  to  others  y  but  (her  love  of 
money  was  equal  to  her  love  of  directing,  and  she 
knew  quite  as  well  how  to  save  her  own  as  to 
spend  that  of  her  friends!)  Having  married  on  a 
narrower  income  than  she  had  been  used  to  look 
forward  to,  she  had,/i  rom  the  first,  fancied  a  very 
strict  line  of  economy  necessary^  and  what  was 
(begun  as  a  matter  of  prudence,  soon  grew  into  a 
matter  of  choice,\as  an  object  of  that  needful 
solicitude  which  tliere  were  no  children  to  supply. 
Had  there  been  a  family  to  provide  for,  Mrs 
Norris  might  never  have  saved  her  money;  but 
maving  no  care  of  that  kind,  there  was  nothing  to 
impede  her  frugality^  or  to  lessen  the  comfort  of 
making  a  yearly  addition  to  an  income  which  they 
had  never  lived  up  to.  (Under  this  infatuating 
principle,  counteracted  by  no  real  affection  for 
her  sister,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  aim  at  more 
than  the  credit  of  projecting  and  arranging  so 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

expensive  a  charity  ;\hough  perhaps^hejpigjit  so 
JitJJe'iaiQwJierself ,  as  to  walk  home  to  the  Par- 
sonage, after  fHis  conversation,  in  the  happy 
belief  of  being  the  most  liberal-mincied  sister  and 
aunt  in  the  worI3^ 

'  When  the  subject  was  brought  forward  again, 
her  views  were  more  fully  explained;  and,  in 
reply  to  Lady  Bertram's  calm  inquiry  of  "Where 
shall  the  child  come  to  first,  sister,  to  j^ou  or  to 
us?"  Sir  Thomas  heard  with  some  surprise,  that 
it  would  be  totally  out  of  INIrs  Norris's  power  to 
take  any  share  in  the  personal  charge  of  her.  He 
had  been  considering  her  as  a  particularly  wel- 
come addition  at  the  Parsonage,  as  a  desirable 
companion  to  an  aunt  who  had  no  children  of  her 
own;  but  he  found  himself  wholly  mistaken. 
Mr. I  Norris  was  sorry  to  say,  that  the  little  girl's 
staving  with  them,  at  least  as  things  then  were, 
was  quite  out  of  the  question.  Poor  Mr  Norris's 
indifferent  state  of  health  made  it  an  impossibil- 
ity; he  could  no  more  bear  the  noise  of  a  child 
than  he  could  fly(if,  indeed,  he  should  ever  get 
well  of  his  gouty  complaints,  it  would  be  a  differ- 
ent matter^  she  should  then  be  glad  to  take  her 
turn,  and  think  nothing  of  the  inconvenience ;  but 
just  now,  poor  ]\Ir  Norris  took  up  every  moment 
of  her  time,  and  the  very  mention  of  such  a  thing 
she  was  sure  would  distract  him. 

"Then  she  had  better  come  to  us,"  said  Lady 
[10] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Bertram,  with  the  utmost  composure.  After  a 
short  pause,  Sir  Thomas  added  with  dignity, 
"Yes;  let  her  home  be  in  this  house.  We  will 
endeavour  to  do  our  duty  by  her,  and  she  will,  at 
least,  have  the  advantage  of  companions  of  her 
own  age,  and  of  a  regular  instructress." 

"Very  true,"  cried  JNIrs  Norris,  "which  are  both 
very  important  considerations;  and  it  will  be  just 
the  same  to  ISIiss  Lee,  whether  she  has  three  girls 
to  teach,  or  only  two — there  can  be  no  difference. 
I  only  wish  I  could  be  more  useful ;  but  you  see  I 
do  all  in  my  power.  (  I  am  not  one  of  those  that 
spare  their  own  trouble;) and  Nanny  shall  fetch 
her,  however  it  may  put  me  to  inconvenience  to 
have  my  chief  counsellor  away  for  three  days.  I 
suppose,  sister,  you  will  put  the  child  in  the  little 
white  attic,  near  the  old  nurseries.  It  will  be 
much  the  best  place  for  her,  so  near  Miss  Lee,  and 
not  far  from  the  girls,  and  close  by  the  house- 
maids, who  could  either  of  them  help  to  dress  her, 
you  know,  and  take  care  of  her  clothes,  for  I  sup- 
pose you  would  not  think  it  fair  to  expect  Ellis 
to  wait  on  her  as  well  as  the  others.  Indeed,  I 
do  not  see  that  you  could  possibly  place  her  any- 
where else." 

Lady  Bertram  made  no  opposition. 

"I  hope  she  will  prove  a  well-disposed  girl," 
continued  Mrs  Norris,  "and  be  sensible  of  her 
uncommon  good  fortune  in  having  such  friends." 

[11] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"Should  her  disposition  be  really  bad,"  said 
Sir  Thomas,  "we  must  not,  for  our  owti  children's 
sake,  continue  her  in  the  family;  but  there  is  no 
reason  to  expect  so  great  an  evil.^We  shall  prob- 
ably see  much  to  wish  altered  in  her,  and  must 
prepare  ourselves  for  gross  ignorance,  some 
meanness  of  opinions,  and  very  distressing  vul- 
garity of  manner;  but  these  are  not  incurable 
faults  ;\nor,  I  trust,  can  they  be  dangerous  for 
her  associates.  Had  my  daughters  been  younger 
than  herself,  I  should  have  considered  the  intro- 
duction of  such  a  companion  as  a  matter  of  very 
serious  moment ;  but,  as  it  is,  I  hope  there  can  be 
nothing  to  fear  for  them,  and  everything  to  hope 
for  her,  from  the  association." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  think,"  cried  Mrs  Nor- 

ris,  "and  what  I  was  saying  to  my  husband  this 

morning.     It  will  be  an  education  for  the  child, 

said  I,  only  being  with  her  cousins;  if  Miss  Lee 

"^  J  taught  her  nothing,  she  would  learn  to  be  good 

-^■^ijand  clever  from  themy 

v'l  hope  she  will  not  tease  my  poor  pug,"  said 
Lady  Bertram:  "I  have  but  just  got  Julia  to 
leave  it  alone."  ^ 

"There  will  be  some  difficulty  in  our  way,  Mrs 
Norris,"  observed  Sir  Thomas,  "as  to  the  distinc- 
tion proper  to  be  made  between  the  girls  as  they 
grow  up:(liow  to  preserve  in  the  minds  of  my 
daughters  the  consciousness  of  what  they  are, 
[12] 


^^ 


^ 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

without  making  them  think  too  lowly  of  their 
cousin ;  and  how,  without  depressing  her  spirits  too 
far,  to  make  her  remember  that  she  is  not  a  Miss 
Bertram.)  I  should  wish  to  see  them  very  good 
friends,  and/would,  on  no  account,  authorize  in 
my  girls  the  smallest  degree  of  arrogance 
towards  their  relation;  but  still  they  cannot  be 
equals.  Their  rank,  fortune,  rights,  and  expec- 
tations, will  always  be  different. j  It  is  a  point  of 
great  delicacy,  and  you  must  assist  us  in  our  en- 
deavours to  choose  exactly  the  right  line  of  con- 
duct." 

Mrs  Norris  was  quite  at  his  service ;  and  though 
she  perfectly  agreed  with  him  as  to  its  being  a 
most  difficult  thing,  encouraged  him  to  hope  that 
between  them  it  would  be  easily  managed. 

It  will  be  readily  believed  that  Mrs  Norris  did 
not  write  to  her  sister  in  vain.  Mrs  Price  seemed 
rather  surprised  that  a  girl  should  be  fixed  on, 
when  she  had  so  many  fine  boys,  but  accepted  the 
offer  most  thankfully,  assuring  them  of  her 
daughter's  being  a  very  well-disposed,  good- 
humoured,  girl,  and  trusting  they  would  never 
have  cause  to  throw  her  off.  She  spoke  of  her 
farther  as  somewhat  delicate  and  puny,  but  was 
sanguine  in  the  hope  of  her  bemg  materially  bet- 
ter for  change  of  air.  /Poor  woman !  she  probably 
thought  change  of  air  might  agree  with  many  of 
her  children.) 

[13] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  little  girl  performed  her  long  journey 
in  safety;  and  at  Northampton  was  met 
by  Mrs  Norris,  who  thus  regaled  in  the 
credit  of  being  foremost  to  welcome  her,  and  in 
the  importance  of  leading  her  in  to  the  others, 
and  recommending  her  to  their  kindness. 

(Fanny  Price  was  at  this  time  just  ten  years 
old,ynd  though  there  might  not  be  much  in  her 
first  appearance  to  captivate,  there  was,  at  least, 
nothing  to  disgust  her  relations.  She  was  small 
of  her  age,  with  no  glowLofLeomple^^on,  jigr  any 
other  striking  beauty ;  exceedingly  tin^id  and  shy, 
"and  shrinking  fronThotice;  but  fier]airj_thgugh" 
g,wkward,  was  not  vulgar,  her  voice  was  sweet, 
and  when  sLe  .spoke  her  rnnntenance_was  pretty. 
Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Bertram  received  her  very 
kindly;  and  Sir  Thomas,  seeing  how  much  she 
needed  encouragement,  tried  to  be  all  that  was 
conciliating;  but  he  had  to  work  against  a  most 
untoward  gravity  of  deportment;  and  Lady 
Bertram,  without  taking  half  so  much  trouble,  or 
speaking  one  word  where  he  spoke  ten,  by  the 
mere  aid  of  a  good-humoured  smile,  became  im- 
mediately the  less  awful  character  of  the  two. 

The  young  people  were  all  at  home,  and  sus- 
tained their  share  in  the  introduction  very  well, 
[14] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

with  much  good  humour,  and  no  embarrassment, 
at  least  on  the  part  of  the  sons,  who,  at  seventeen 
and  sixteen,  and  tall  of  their  age,  had  all  the 
grandeur  of  men  in  the  eyes  of  their  little  cousin. 
The  two  girls  were  more  at  a  loss  from  being 
younger  and  in  greater  awe  of  their  father,  who 
addressed  them  on  the  occasion  with  rather  an 

Jiijudicious_particularity.  But  they  were  too 
much  used  to  company  and  praise,  to  have  any- 
thing like  natural  shyness;  and  their  confidence 
increasing  from  their  cousin's  total  want  of  it, 
they  were  soon  able  to  take  a  full  survey  of  her 
face  and  her  frock  in  easy  indifference. 

They  were  a  remarkably  fine  family,  the  sons 
very  well-looking,  the  daughters  decidedly  hand- 
some, and  all  of  them  well-grown  and  forward  of 
their  age,  which  produced  as  striking  a  difference 
between  the  cousins  in  person,  as  education  had 
given  to  their  address;  and  no  one  would  have 
supposed  the  girls  so  nearly  of  an  age  as  they 
really  were.  There  was  in  fact  but  two  years 
between  the  youngest  and  Fanny.  Julia  Bertram 
was  only  twelve,*  and  Maria  but  a  year  older. 

fThe  little  visitor  meanwhile  was  as  unhappy  as 
possible.  \  ^f raid  of  everybody,  ashamed  of  her- 
self, and  longing  for  the  home  she  had  left,  she 
knew  not  how  to  look  up,  and  could  scarcely 
speak  to  be  heard,  or  without  crying?)  Mrs  Norris 
had  been  talking  to  her  the  whole  way  from 

[15] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Northampton  of  her  wonderful  good  fortune, 
and  the  extraordinary  degree  of  gratitude  and 
good  behaviour  which  it  ought  to  produce,  and 
her  consciousness  of  misery  was  therefore  in- 
creased by  (che  idea  of  its  being  a  wicked  thing  for 
her  not  to  be  happy,  j  The  fatigue,  too,  of  so  long 
a  journey,  became  soon  no  trifling  evil.  In  vain 
were  the  well-meant  condescensions  of  Sir 
Thomas,  and  all  the  officious  prognostications  of 
Mrs  Norris  that  she  would  be  a  good  girl ;  in  vain 
did  Lady  Bertram  smile  and  make  her  sit  on 
the  sofa  with  herself  and  pug,  and  vain  was  even 
the  sight  of  a  gooseberry  tart  towards  giving  her 
comfort;  she  could  scarcely  swallow  two  mouth- 
f uls  before  tears  interrupted  her,  and  sleep  seem- 
ing to  be  her  likeliest  friend,  she  was  taken  to  fin- 
ish her  sorrows  in  bed. 

"This  is  not  a  very  promising  beginning,"  said 
Mrs  Norris,  when  Fanny  had  left  the  room. 
"After  all  that  I  said  to  her  as  we  came  along,  I 
thought  she  would  have  behaved  better;  I  told 
her  how  much  might  depend  upon  her  acquitting 
herself  well  at  first.  I  wish  there  may  not  be  a 
little  sulkiness  of  temper — her  poor  mother  had 
a  good  deal:  but  we  must  make  allowances  for 
such  a  child ; — and  I  do  not  know  that  her  being 
sorry  to  leave  her  home  is  really  against  her,  for, 
with  all  its  faults,  it  was  her  home,  and  she  cannot 
as  yet  understand  how  much  she  has  changed  for 
[16] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

the  better;  but  then  there  is  moderation  in  all 
things." 

It  required  a  longer  time,  however,  than  Mrs 
Norris  was  inclined  to  allow,  to  reconcile  Fanny 
to  the  novelty  of  JMansfield  Park,  and  the  separa- 
tion from  everybody  she  had  been  used  to.  Her 
feelings  were  very  acute,  and  too  little  under- 
stood to  be  properly  attended  to.  (Nobody  meant 
to  be  unkind,  but  nobody  put  themselves  out  of 
their  way  to  secure  her  comfort.  J 

The  holiday  allowed  to  the  Miss  Bertrams  the 
next  day,  on  purpose  to  afford  leisure  for  getting 
acquainted  with,  and  entertaining  their  young 
cousin,  produced  little  union.  They  could  not  but 
hold  her  cheap  on  finding  that  she  had  but  two 
sashes,  and  had  never  learned  French ;  and  when 
they  perceived  her  to  be  little  struck  with  the  duet 
[they]  were  so  good  as  to  play,  they  could  do  no 
more  than  make  her  a  generous  present  of  some 
of  their  least  valued  toys,  and  leave  her  to  her- 
self, while  they  adjourned  to  whatever  might  be 
the  favourite  holiday  sport  of  the  moment,  mak- 
ing artificial  flowers  or  wasting  gold  paper. 

Fanny,  whether  near  or  from  her  cousins, 
whether  in  the  school-room,  the  drawing-room,  or 
the  shrubbery,  was  equally  forlorn,  finding  some- 
thing to  fear  in  every  person  and  place.  She  was 
/disheartened  by  Lady  Bertram's  silence,)^awed 
by  Sir  Thomas's  grave  looks\  and  quite  overcome 

[17] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

by\JVIrs  Norris's  admonitions\  Her  elder  cousins 
mortified  her  by  reflections^  on  her  size,  and 
abashed  her  by  noticing  her  shyness:  Miss  Lee 
wondered  at  her  ignorance,  and  the  maid-servants 
sneered  at  her  clothes ;  and  when  to  these  sorrows 
was  added  the  idea  of  thVbrothers  and  sisters 
among  whom  she  had  always  been  important  as 
playfellow,  instructress,  and  nurse,  the  despond- 
ence that  sunk  her  little  heart  was  severeJ 

The  grandeur  of  the  house  astoni^ed,  but 
could  not  console  her.  The  rooms  were  too  large 
for  her  to  move  in  with  ease;  whatever  she 
touched  she  expected  to  injure,  and  she  crept 
about  in  constant  terror  of  something  or  other; 
often  retreating  towards  her  own  chamber  to  cry; 
and  the  little  girl  who  was  spoken  of  in  the  draw- 
ing-room when  she  left  it  at  night,  as  seeming  so 
desirably  sensible  of  her  peculiar  good  fortune, 
ended  every  day's  sorrows  by  sobbing  herself  to 
sleep.  A  week  had  passed  in  this  way,  and  no 
suspicion  of  it  conveyed  by  her  quiet  passive  man- 
ner, when  she  was  found  one  morning  by  her 
cousin  Edmund,  the  youngest  of  the  sons,  sitting 
crying  on  the  attic  stairs. 

\"My  dear  little  cousin,"  said  he,  with  all  the 
gentleness  of  an  excellent  nature,  "what  can  be 
the  matter?"]  And  sitting  down  by  her,  was  at 
great  pains  to  overcome  her  shame  in  being  so 
surprised,  and  persuade  her  to  speak  openly. 
[18] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"Was  she  ill?  or  was  anybody  angry  with  her? 
or  had  she  quarrelled  with  Maria  and  Julia?  or 
was  she  puzzled  about  anything  in  her  lesson  that 
he  could  explain?  tDid  she,  in  short,  want  any- 
thing he  could  possibly  get  her,  or  do  for  her?"  I 
For  a  long  while  no  answer  could  be  obtained 
beyond  a  "no,  no — not  at  all — no,  thank  you;" 
/^but  he  still  persevered;) and  no  sooner  had  he 
begun  to  revert  to  her  own  home,  than  her  in- 
creased sobs  explained  to  him  where  the  grievance 
lav.    He  tried  to  console  her. 

[  "You  are  sorry  to  leave  mamma,  my  dear  little 
Fanny,"  said  he,  "which  shows  you  to  be  a  very 
good  girl :  but  you  must  remember  that  you  are 
with  relations  and  friends,  who  all  love  you,  and 
wish  to  make  you  happy.  Let  us  walk  out  in  the 
park,  and  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  your  brothers 
and  sisters."  j 

On  pursuing  the  subject,  he  found  that,  dear 
as  all  these  brothers  and  sisters  generally  were, 
there  was  one  among  them  who  ran  more  in  her 
thoughts  than  the  rest.  It  was  William  whom 
she  talked  of  most,  and  wanted  most  to  see. 
(William,  the  eldest,  a  year  older  than  herself,  her 
constant  companion  and  friend;  her  advocate 
with  her  mother  (of  whom  he  was  the  darling) 
in  every  distress.)  "William  did  not  like  she 
should  come  away ;  he  had  told  her  he  should  miss 
her  very  much  indeed. — "But  William  will  write 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

to  you,  I  dare  say." — "Yes,  he  had  promised  he 
would,  but  he  had  told  her  to  write  first." — "And 
when  shall  you  do  it?"  She  hung  her  head  and 
answered,  hesitatingly,  "She  did  not  know;  she 
had  not  any  paper." 

"If  that  be  all  your  difficulty,  I  will  furnish 
you  with  paper  and  every  other  material,  and  you 
may  write  your  letter  whenever  you  choose. 
Would  it  make  you  happy  to  write  to  William?" 

"Yes,  very." 

r*'Then  let  it  be  done  now.  Come  with  me  into 
the  breakfast-room,  we  shall  find  everything 
there,  and  be  sure  of  having  the  room  to  our- 
selves.'^ 

"But,  cousin,  will  it  go  to  the  post?" 

"Yes,  depend  upon  me  it  shall:  it  shall  go  with 
the  other  letters ;  and,  as  your  uncle  will  frank  it, 
it  will  cost  William  nothing." 

"My  uncle!"  repeated  Fanny,  with  a  fright- 
ened look. 

"Yes,  when  you  have  written  the  letter,  I  will 
take  it  to  my  father  to  frank." 

Fanny  thought  it  a  bold  measure,  but  offered 
no  farther  resistance ;  and  they  went  together  into 
the  breakfast-room,  where  Edmund  prepared  her 
paper,  and  ruled  her  lines  with  all  the  good-will 
that  her  brother  could  himself  have  felt,  and 
probably  with  somewhat  more  exactness.  He 
continued  with  her  the  whole  time  of  her  writing, 
[20] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

to  assist  her  with  his  penknife  or  his  orthography, 
as  either  were  wanted :  and  ^dded  to  these  atten- 
tions, which  she  felt  very  much,  a  kindness  to  her 
brother  which  dehghted  her  beyond  all  the  rest. 
He  wrote  with  his  own  hand  his  love  to  his  cousin 
William,  and  sent  him  half  a  guinea  under  the 
seal,  j  Fanny's  feelings  on  the  occasion  were  such 
as  she  believed  herself  incapable  of  expressing; 
but  her  countenance  and  a  few  artless  words  fully 
conveyed  all  their  gratitude  and  delight,  <^nd  her 
cousin  began  to  find  her  an  interesting  object  J 
(  He  talked  to  her  more,  and,  from  all  that  she  said, 
was  convinced  of  her  having  an  affectionate 
heart,  and  a  strong  desire  of  doing  right ;  and  he 
could  perceive  her  to  be  farther  entitled  to  atten- 
tion, by  great  sensibility  of  her  situation,  and 
great  timidity. )  He  had  never  knowingly  given 
her  pain,  but  he  now  felt  that  she  required  more 
positive  kindness  and  with  that  view  endeavoured, 
in  the  first  place,  to  lessen  her  fears  of  them  all, 
and  gave  her  especially  a  great  deal  of  good 
advice  as  to  playing  with  Maria  and  Julia,  and 
being  as  merry  as  possible. 

(From  this  day  Fanny  grew  more  comfortable. 
She  felt  that  she  had  a  friend,  and  the  kindness 
of  her  cousin  Edmund  gave  her  better  spirits 
with  everybody  else,  y  The  place  became  less 
strange,  and  the  people  less  formidable;  and  if 
there  were  some  amongst  them  whom  she  could 

[21] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

not  cease  to  f  ear,(she  began  at  least  to  know  their 
ways,  and  to  catch  the  best  manner  of  conform- 
ing to  them. )  The  httle  rusticities  and  awkward- 
nesses which  had  at  first  made  grievous  inroads  on 
the  tranquilhty  of  all,  and  not  least  of  herself, 
necessarily  wore  away,  and  she  was  no  longer 
materially  afraid  to  appear  before  her  uncle,  nor 
did  her  Aunt  Norris's  voice  make  her  start  very 
much.  To  her  cousins  she  became  occasionally  an 
acceptable  companion.  Though  unworthy,  from 
inferiority  of  age  and  strength,  to  be  their  con- 
stant associate,  their  pleasures  and  schemes  were 
sometimes  of  a  nature  to  make  a  third  very  use- 
ful, especially  when  tliat  third  was  of  an  obligmg, 
yielding  temper;  and  they  could  not  but  own, 
when  their  aunt  inquired  into  her  faults,  or  their 
brother  Edmund  urged  her  claims  to  their  kind- 
ness, that  "Fanny  was  good-natured  enough." 

Edmund  was  uniformly  kind  himself;  and  she 

had  nothing  worse  to  endure  on  the  part  of  Tom 

than  that  sort  of  merriment  which  a  young  man 

of  seventeen  will  always  think  fair  with  a  child  of 

ten.     He  was  just  entering  into  life,   full  of 

spirits,  and  with  all  the  liberal  dispositions  of  an_ 

eldest  son,  who  feels  born  only  for  expense  and 

^enjoyment!    TTis  kmdness  to  his  little  cousin  was 

consistent  with  his  situation  and  rights :  he  made 

her  some  very  pretty  presents,  and  laughed  at  her. 

As  her  appearance  and  spirits  improved.  Sir 

[22] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Thomas  and  Mrs  Norris  thought  with  greater 
satisfaction  of  their  benevolent  plan;  and  it  was 
pretty  soon  decided  between  them  that  though  far 
from  clever,  she  showed  a  tractable  disposition, 
and  seemed  likely  to  give  them  little  trouble.  A 
mean  opinion  of  her  abilities  was  not  confined  to 
them.  Fanny  could  read,  work,  and  MTite,  but 
she  had  been  taught  nothing  more;  and  as  her 
cousins  found  her  ignorant  of  many  things  with 
which  they  had  been  long  familiar,  they  thought 
her  prodigiously  stupid,  and  for  the  first  two  or 
three  weeks  were  continually  bringing  some  fresh 
report  of  it  into  the  drawing-room.  "Dear 
mamma,  only  think,  my  cousin  cannot  put  the 
map  of  Europe  together — or  my  cousin  cannot 
tell  the  principal  rivers  in  Russia — or  she  never 
heard  of  Asia  Minor — or  she  does  not  know  the 
difference  between  water-colours  and  crayons! 
How  strange!  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  so 
stupid?" 

"My  dear,"  their  ^  jnsiderate  aunt  would  reply, 
"it  is  very  bad,  but  you  must  not  expect  every- 
body to  be  as  forward  and  quick  at  learning  as 
yourself." 

"But,  aunt,  she  is  really  so  very  ignorant!  Do 
you  know,  we  asked  her  last  night,  which  way  she 
would  go  to  get  to  Ireland;  and  she  said,  she 
should  cross  to  the  Isle  of  Wight.  She  thinks  of 
nothing  but  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  she  calls  it  the 

[23] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Island,  as  if  there  were  no  other  island  in  the 
world.  I  am  sure  I  should  have  been  ashamed  of 
myself,  if  I  had  not  known  better  long  before  I 
was  so  old  as  she  is.  I  cannot  remember  the  time 
when  I  did  not  know  a  great  deal  that  she  has  not 
the  least  notion  of  yet.  How  long  ago  it  is,  aunt, 
since  we  used  to  repeat  the  chronological  order 
of  the  kings  of  England,  with  the  dates  of  their 
accession,  and  most  of  the  principal  events  of 
their  reigns!" 

"Yes,"  added  the  other;  "and  of  the  Roman 
emperors  as  low  as  Severus;  besides  a  great  deal 
of  the  heathen  mythology,  and  all  the  metals, 
semi-metals,  planets,  and  distinguished  philoso- 
phers." 

"Very  true,  indeed,  my  dears,  but  you  are 
blessed  with  wonderful  memories,  and  your  poor 
cousin  has  probably  none  at  all.  There  is  a  vast 
deal  of  difference  in  memories,  as  well  as  in  every- 
thing else,  and  therefore  ^ou  must  make  allow- 
ance for  your  cousin,  and  pity  her  deficiency. 
And  remember  that,  if  you  are  ever  so  forwafd 
and  clever  yourselves,  you  should  always  be 
modest ;  for,  much  as  you  know  already,  there  is  a 
great  deal  more  for  you  to  learn." 

"Yes,  I  know  there  is,  till  I  am  seventeen.    But 
I  must  tell  you  (another  thing  of  Fanny,  so  odd 
and  so  stupid.    Do  you  know,  she  says  she  does 
not  want  to  learn  either  music  or  drawdng^' 
[24]  J 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

*|To  be  sure,  my  dear,  that  is  very  stupid  indeed, 
ana  shows  a  great  want  of  genius  and  emulation/. 
But,  all  things  considered,  I  do  not  know  whether 
it  is  not  as  well  that  it  should  be  so,  for,  though 
you  know  (owing  to  me)  your  papa  and  mama 
are  so  good  as  to  bring  her  up  with  you,  it  is  not 
at  all  necessan^  that  she  should  be  as  accomplished 
as  you  are;/on  the  contrary,  it  is  much  more 
desirable  that  there  should  be  a  difference."  \ 

^Such  were  the  counsels  by  which  Mrs  Norris 
assisted  to  form  her  nieces'  minds j)  and  it  is  not 
very  wonderful  _that.  with  all  their  promising  tal- 
ents and  early  information,  they  should  be  en- 
tirely  deficTent  m  the  less  common  acquirements 
of  self-kno^i^dge,  generosity,  and  humiUty.  In 
everything  but  disposition,  they  were  admirably 
taught.  Sir  Thomas~did  not  know  what  ^was 
wanting,  because,  though  a  truly  anxious  father, 
he  was  not  outwardly  affectionate,  and  the  re- 
serve of  his  manner  expressedall  the  flow  of  their 
spirits  before  him. 

To  the  education  of  her  daughters  Lady  Ber- 
tram paid  not  the  smallest  attention.  She  had 
not  time  for  such  cares.    She  was  a  woman  who 


spent  her  days  in  sitting,  nicely  dressed,  on  a  sofa, 
doing  some  long  piece  of  needle-work,  of  little 
use  and  no  beauty,  thinking  more  of  her  pug  than 
her  children,  but  very  indulgent  to  the  latter, 
when  it  did  not  put  herself  to  inconvenience, 

[25] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

guided  in  everything  important  by  Sir  Thomas 
and  in  smaHeT^iconcerns  by  her  sister.  Had  she 
possessed  greater  leisure  for  the  service  of  her 
girls,  she  would  probably  have  supposed  it 
unnecessary,  for  they  were  under  the  care  of  a 
governess,  with  proper  masters,  and  could  want 
nothing  more.  As  for  Fanny''s  being  stupid  at 
learnmg,  "she  could  only  say  it  was  very  unlucky, 
but  some  people  were  stupid,  and  Fanny  must 
take  more  pains :  she  did  not  know  what  else  was 
to  be  done ;  and,  except  her  being  so  dull,  she  must 
add  she  saw  no  harm  in  the  poor  little  thing,  and 
always  found  her  very  handy,  and  quick  in  carry- 
ing messages,  and  fetching  what  she  wanted." 

Fanny,  with  all  her  faults  of  ignorance  and 
timidity,  was  fixed  at  Mansfield  Park,  and  learn- 
ing to  transfer  in  its  favour  much  of  her  attach- 
ment to  her  former  home,  gre^v  up  there  not 
unhappily  among  her  cousins.  There  was  no 
positive  HPnature  in  Maria  or  Julia ;  and^though 
Fanny  was  often  mortified  by  their  treatment  of 
her,  she  thought  too  lowly  of  her  own  claims  to 
feel  injured  by  it./ 

From  about  the  time  of  her  entering  the  fam- 
ily. Lady  Bertram,  in  consequence  of  a  little  ill- 
health,  and  a  great  deal  of  indolence,  gave  up  the 
house  in  town,  which  she  had  been  used  to  occupy 
every  spring,  and  remained  wholly  in  the  country, 
leaving  Sir  Thomas  to  attend  his  duty  in  Parlia- 
[26] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

ment,  with  whatever  increase  or  diminution  of 
comfort  might  arise  from  her  absence.  In  the 
country,  therefore,  the  Miss  Bertrams  continued 
to  exercise  their  memories,  practise  their  duets, 
and  grow  tall  and  womanly :  and  their  father  saw 
them  becoming  in  person,  manner,  and  accom- 
plishments, everything  that  could  satisfy  his 
anxiety.  His  eldest  son  was  careless  and  extrava- 
gant, and  had  already  given  him  much  uneasi- 
ness ;  but  his  other  children  promised  him  nothing 
but  good.  His  daughters,  he  felt,  while  they 
retained  the  name  of  Bertram,  must  be  giving  it 
new  grace,  and  in  quitting  it,  he  trusted,  would 
extend  its  respectable  alliances;  and  the  character 
of  Edmund,  his  strong  good  sense  and  upright- 
liesFof  mind,  bid  most  fairly  for  utility^  honour, 
§jid  happonesFtoliimself  and  all  his  connections. 
He  was  to  be  a  clergyman. 

Amid~tEe~cares  and  tTie  complaceny  which  his 
own  children  suggested.  Sir  Thomas  did  not  for- 
get to  do  what  he  could  for  the  children  of  Mrs 
Price:  he  assisted  her  liberally  in  the  education 
and  disposal  of  her  sons  as  they  became  old 
enough  for  a  determinate  pursuit:  and  Fanny, 
though  almost  totally  separated  from  her  family, 
was  sensible  of  the  truest  satisfaction  in  hearing 
of  any  kindness  towards  them,  or  of  anything  at 
all  promising  in  their  situation  or  conduct.  Once, 
and  once  only  in  the  course  of  many  years,  had 

[27] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

she  the  happiness  of  being  with  WiUiam.  Of  the 
rest  she  saw  nothing ;  nobody  seemed  to  think  of 
her  ever  going  amongst  them  again,  even  for  a 
visit,  nobody  at  home  seemed  to  want  her;  but 
Wilham  determining,  soon  after  her  removal,  to 
be  a  sailor,  was  invited  to  spend  a  week  with  his 
sister  in  Northamptonshire,  before  he  went  to  sea. 
Their  eager  affection  in  meeting,  their  exquisite 
delight  in  being  together,  their  hours  of  happy 
mirth,  and  moments  of  serious  conference,  may 
^  imagined ;  as  well  as  the  sanguine  views  and 
spirits  of  the  boy  even  to  the  last,  and  the  misery 
of  the  girl  when  he  left  her.  Luckily  the  visit 
happened  in  the  Christmas  holidays,  when  she 
could  directly  look  for  comfort  to  her  cousin 
Edmund;  and  he  told  her  such  charming  things 
of  what  William  was  to  do,  and  be  hereafter,  in 
consequence  of  his  profession,  as  made  her  grad- 
ually admit  that  the  separation  might  have  some 
use.  Edmuncrs  friendship  never  failedjier :  ^ his 
leaving  Eton  for  Oxford  made  no  change  in  his 
kind  disposition,  and  only  afforded  more  fre- 
quent opportunities  of  proving  themy  Without 
any  display  of  doing  more  than  the  rest,  or  any 
feair  of  Bbing  too  much,  he  was  always  true~tcrh£i, 

^nterests»_and  considerate  of  her  feelings,  trying 
to  make  her  good  qualities  understood,  and  to 
conquer  the  diffidenc^  m  hich  prevented  theirbeing 
more  aj)parent ;  gi ving_  her  advice,  consolation, 

.axid  encouragement. 
[28]    '"' 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

Kept  back  as  she  was  by  everybody  else,  his 
single  su23port  could  not  bring  her  forward;  but 
liis  attentions  were  otherwise  of  the  highest  im- 
portance in  assisting  the  improvement  of  her 
mind,  and  extending  its  pleasures.]  He  knew  her 
tobe  clever,  to  have  a  quick  apprehension  as  well 
as  good  sense,  and  a  fondness  for  reading,  which, 
properly  directed  rnnstjhe  an  edncationjiijtself. 
^liss  Lee  taught  her  French,  and  heard  her  read 
the  daily  portion  of  history ;  but  he  recommended 
the  books  which  charmed  her  leisure  hours,  he  en- 
couraged  her  taste,  and  corrected  her  judgment; 
he  made  reading  useful  by  talking  to  her  ofwhat 
she  read,  and  heightened  its  attraction  by 
judicious  praise.  In  return  for  such  services,  she 
loved  him  better  than  anybody  in  the  world  ex- 
cept William: /her  heart  was  divided  between  the 
two?) 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  first  event  of  any  importance  in  the 
family  was  the  death  of  Mr  Norris,  which 
happened  when  Fanny  was  about  fifteen, 
and  necessarily  introduced  alterations  and  novel- 
ties. Mrs  Norris,  on  quitting  the  Parsonage,  re- 
moved first  to  the  Park,  and  afterwards  to  a  small 
house  of  Sir  Thomas's  in  the  village,  and  consoled 

[29] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

herself  for  the  loss  of  her  husband  by  consider- 
ing that  she  could  do  very  well  without  him ;  and 
for  her  reduction  of  income  by  the  evident  neces- 
sity of  stricter  economy. 

The  living  was  hereafter  for  Edmund;  and, 
had  his  uncle  died  a  few  years  sooner,  it  would 
have  been  duly  given  to  some  friend  to  hold  till 
he  were  old  enough  for  orders.  But  Tom's  ex- 
travagance had,  previous  to  that  event,  been  so 
great,  as  to  render  a  different  disposal  of  the  next 
presentation  necessary,  and  the  younger  brother 
must  help  to  pay  for  the  pleasures  of  the  elder. 
There  was  another  family  living  actually  held  for 
Edmund :  but  though  this  circumstance  had  made 
the  arrangement  somewhat  easier  to  Sir  Thomas's 
conscience,  he  could  not  but  feel  it  to  be  an  act 
of  injustice,  and  he  earnestly  tried  to  impress  his 
eldest  son  with  the  same  conviction,  in  the  hope  of 
its  producing  a  better  effect  than  anything  he 
had  yet  been  able  to  say  or  do. 

"I  blush  for  you,  Tom,"  said  he,  in  his  most 
dignified  manner;  "I  blush  for  the  expedient 
which  I  am  driven  on,  and  I  trust  I  may  pity  your 
feelings  as  a  brother  on  the  occasion.  You  have 
robbed  Edmund  for  ten,  twenty,  thirty  years, 
perhaps  for  life,  of  more  than  half  the  income 
which  ought  to  be  his.  It  may  hereafter  be  in  my 
power,  or  in  your's  (I  hope  it  will),  to  procure 
him  better  preferment;  but  it  must  not  be  for- 
[30]  ■  ^ 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

gotten^  that  no  benefit  of  that  sort  would  have 
been  beyond  his  natural  claims  on  us,  and  that 
nothing  can,  in  fact,  be  an  equivalent  for  the 
certain  advantage  which  he  is  now  obliged  to 
forego  through  the  urgency  of  your  debts." 

Tom  listened  with  some  shame  and  some  sor- 
row; but  escaping  as  quickly  as  possible,  could 
soon  with  cheerful  selfishness  reflect,  1st,  that  he 
had  not  been  half  so  much  in  debt  as  some  of  his 
friends;  2dly,  that  his  father  had  made  a  most 
tiresome  piece  of  work  of  it ;  and,  3dly,  that  the 
future  incumbent,  whoever  lie  might  be,~would, 
in  all  probability,  die  very  soon. 

On  Mr  Norris's  death,  the  presentation  became 
the  right  of  a  Dr  Grant,  who  came  consequently 
to  reside  at  Mansfield;  and  on  proving  to  be  a 
hearty  man  of  forty-five,  seemed  likely  to  disap- 
point Mr  Bertram's  calculations.  But  "no,  he 
was  a  short-necked,   apoplectic  sort  of  fellow, 

and,  ^ed  well  with  good  things,  would  soon  pop 
off^^— — 

He  had  a  wife  about  fifteen  years  his  junior, 
but  no  children;  and  they  entered  the  neigh- 
bourhood with  the  usual  fair  report  of  being  very 
respectable,  agreeable  people. 

The  time  was  now  come  wher/Sir  Thomas  ex- 
pected his  sister-in-law  to  claim  her  share  in  their 
niece,  the  change  in  Mrs  Norris's  situation,  and 
the  improvement  in  Fanny's  age,  seeming  not 

[31] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

merely  to  do  away  any  former  objection  to  their 
living  together,  but  even  to  give  it  the  most  de- 
cided eligibility;  and  as  his  own  circumstances 
were  rendered  less  fair  than  heretofore,  by  some 
recent  losses  on  his  West  India  estate,  in  addi- 
tion to  his  eldest  son's  extravagance,  it  became 
not  undesirable  to  himself  to  be  relieved  from  the 
expense  of  her  support,  and  the  obligation  of  her 
future  provision.  J  In  the  fulness  of  his  belief  that 
such  a  thing  must  be,  he  mentioned  its  probability 
to  his  wife;  and  the  first  time  of  the  subject's 
occurring  to  her  again,  happening  to  be  when 
Fanny  was  present,  she  calmly  observed  to  her, 
"So,  Fanny,  you  are  going  to  leave  us,  and  live 
with  my  sister.    How  shall  you  like  it?" 

Fanny  was  too  much  surprised  to  do  more  than 
repeat  her  aunt's  words,  "Going  to  leave  you?" 

"Yes,  my  dear;  why  should  you  be  astonished? 
You  have  been  five  years  \vith  us,  and  my  sister 
always  meant  to  take  you  when  Mr  Norris  died. 
But  you  must  come  up  and  tack  on  my  patterns 
all  the  same." 

The  news  was  as  disagreeable  to  Fanny  as  it 
had  been  unexpected.  She  had  never  received 
kindness  from  her  aunt  Norris,  and  could  not 
love  her. 

"I  shall  be  very  sorry  to  go  away,"  said  she, 
with  a  faltering  voice. 

"Yes,  I  dare  say  you  will;  that's  natural 
[32]  '         , 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

enough.  I  suppose  you  have  had  as  httle  to  vex 
you  since  you  came  into  this  house  as  any  creature 
in  the  world." 

"I  hope  I  am  not  ungrateful,  aunt,"  said 
Fanny,  modestly. 

"No,  my  dear;  I  hope  not.  I  have  always 
found  you  a  very^good  girl." 

' '  And'amT nevel*^' live  here  again?" 

"Never,  my  dear;  but  you  are  sure  of  a  com- 
fortable home.  It  can  make  very  little  difFer- 
^nce  to  you^whetEer  you  are  in  one  hons^-Qi-tfce 
(^r." 

I'^anny  left  the  room  with  a  very  sorrowful 
heart:  she  could  not  feel  the  difference  to  be  so 
small,  she  could  not  think  of  living  with  her  aunt 
with  anything  like  satisfaction.  As  soon  as  she 
met  with  Edmund,  she  told  him  her  distress. 

"Cousin,"  said  she,  "something  is  going  to  hap- 
pen which  I  do  not  like  at  all;  and  though  you 
have  often  persuaded  me  into  being  reconciled  to 
things  that  I  disliked  at  first,  you  will  not  be  able 
to  do  it  now.  I  am  going  to  live  entirely  with 
my  aunt  Norris." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes:  my  aunt  Bertram  has  just  told  me  so. 
It  is  quite  settled.  I  am  to  leave  Mansfield  Park, 
and  go  to  the  White  House,  I  suppose,  as  soon  as 
she  is  removed  there." 

"Well,  Fanny,  and  if  the  plan  were  not  un- 
pleasant to  you,  I  should  call  it  an  excellent  one." 

[33] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"Oh,  cousin!" 

"It  has  everything  else  in  its  favour.  My  aunt 
is  acting  Hke  a  sensible  woman  in  wishing  for  you. 
She  is  choosing  a  friend  and  companion  exactly 
where  she  ought,  and  I  am  glad  her  love  of  money 
does  not  interfere.  You  will  be  what  you  ought 
to  be  to  her.  I  hope  it  does  not  distress  you  very 
much,  Fanny?" 

"Indeed  it  does:  I  cannot  like  it.  I  love  this 
house  and  everything  in  it:  I  shall  love  nothing 
there.  You  know  how  uncomfortable  I  feel  with 
her." 

"I  can  say  nothing  for  her  manner  to  you  as  a 
child;  but  it  was  the  same  with  us  all,  or  nearly 
so.  She  never  knew  how  to  be  pleasant  to  chil- 
dren. But  you  are  now  of  an  age  to  be  treated 
better ;  I  think  she  is  behaving  better  already ;  and 
when  you  are  her  only  companion,  you  must  be 
important  to  her." 

"LcaJ3-ft£^£JLbe  important  to  any  one.'* 

"What  is  to  prevent  you?" 

"Everything.  My  situation,  my  foolishness, 
and  awkwardness.  ^~ 

"As  toTyoiir  foolishness  and  awkwardness,  my 
dear  Fanny,  believe  me,  you  never  have  a  shadow 
of  either,  but  in  using  the  words  so  improperly. 
There  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why  you  should 
not  be  important  where  you  are  known.  You 
have  good  sense,  and  a  sweet  temper,  and  I  am 
[34T 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

sure  you  have  a  grateful  heart,  that  could  never 
receive  kindness  without  vi^ishing  to  return  it.  I 
do  not  know  any  better  qualifications  for  a  friend 
and  companion." 

"You  are  too  kind,"  said  Fanny,  colouring  at 
such  praise;  "how  shall  I  ever  thank  you  as  I 
ought,  for  thinking  so  well  of  me.  Oh!  cousin, 
if  I  am  to  go  away,  I  shall  remember  your  good- 
ness to  the  last  moment  of  my  life." 

"Why,  indeed,  Fanny,  I  should  hope  to  be 
remembered  at  such  a  distance  as  the  White 
House.  You  speak  as  if  j^ou  were  going  two 
hundred  miles  off  instead  of  only  across  the  park ; 
but  you  will  belong  to  us  almost  as  much  as  ever. 
The  two  families  will  be  meeting  every  day  in 
the  year.  The  only  difference  will  be,  that  living 
with  your  aunt,  you  will  necessarily  be  brought 
forward  as  you  ought  to  be.  Here,  there  are  too 
many  whom  you  can  hide  behind;  but  with  her 
you  will  be  forced  to  speak  for  yourself." 

"Oh!  do  not  say  so." 

"I  must  say  it,  and  say  it  with  pleasure.  Mrs 
Norris  is  much  better  fitted  than  my  mother  for 
having  the  charge  of  you  now.  She  is  of  a  tem- 
per to  do  a  great  deal  for  anybody  she  really  in- 
terests herself  about,  and  she  will  force  you  to  do 
justice  to  your  natural  powers." 

Fanny  sighed,  and  said,  "I  cannot  see  things  as 
you  do;  but  I  ought  to  believe  you  to  benight 

/'  [35} 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

rather  than  myself,  and  I  am  very  much  obliged 
to  you  for  trying  to  reconcile  me  to  what  must  be. 
If  I  could  suppose  my  aunt  really  to  care 
for  me,  it  would  be  delightful  to  feel  myself  of 
consequence  to  anybody.  Here,  I  know,  I  am 
of  none,  and  yet  I  love  the  place  so  well." 

"The  place,  Fanny,  is  what  you  will  not  quit, 
though  j'ou  quit  the  house.  You  will  have  as  free 
a  command  of  the  park  and  gardens  as  ever. 
Even  your  constant  little  heart  need  not  take 
fright  at  such  a  nominal  change.  You  will  have 
the  same  walks  to  frequent,  the  same  library 
to  choose  from,  the  same  people  to  look  at, 
the  same  horse  to  ride." 

"Very  true.  Yes,  dear  old  grey  pony!  Ah! 
cousin,  when  I  remember  how  much  I  used  to 
dread  riding,  what  terrors  it  gave  me  to  hear  it 
talked  of  as  likely  to  do  me  good  (oh!  how  I  have 
trembled  at  my  uncle's  opening  his  lips  if  horses 
were  talked  of) ,  and  then  think  of  the  kind  pains 
you  took  to  reason  and  persuade  me  out  of  my 
fears,  and  convince  me  that  I  should  like  it  after 
a  little  while,  and  feel  how  right  you  proved  to  be, 
I  am  inclined  to  hope  you  may  always  prophesy 
as  well." 

"And  I  am  quite  convinced  that  your  being 
with  Mrs  Norris  will  be  as  good  for  your  mind  as 
riding  has  been  for  your  health,  and  as  much  for 
your  ultimate  happiness,  too." 
[36] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

So  ended  their  discourse,  which,  for  any  very 
appropriate  service  it  could  render  Fanny,  might 
as  well  have  been  spared,  for  Mrs  Norris  had  not 
the  smallest  intention  of  taking  her.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  her,  on  the  present  occasion,  but  as  a 
thing  to  be  carefully  avoided.  To  prevent  its 
being  expected,  she  had  fixed  on  the  smallest  hab- 
itation which  could  rank  as  genteel  among  the 
buildings  of  Mansfield  parish,  the  White  House 
being  only  just  large  enough  to  receive  herself 
and  her  servants,  and  allow  a  spare  room  for  a 
friend,  of  which  she  made  a  very  particular  point. 
The  spare  rooms  at  the  Parsonage  had  never  been 
wanted,  but  the  absolute  necessity  of  a  spare 
room  for  a  friend  was  now  never  forgotten.  Not 
all  her  precautions,  however,  could  save  her  from 
being  suspected  of  something  better ;  or,  perhaps, 
her  very  display  of  the  importance  of  a  spare 
room  might  have  misled  Sir  Thomas  to  suppose 
it  really  intended  for  Fanny.  Lady  Bertram 
soon  brought  the  matter  to  a  certainty,  by  care- 
lessly observing  to  Mrs  Norris — 

"I  think,  sister,  we  need  not  keep  Miss  Lee  any 
longer,  when  Fanny  goes  to  live  with  you." 

Mrs  Norris  almost  started.  "Live  with  me, 
dear  Lady  Bertram!  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Is  she  not  to  live  with  you?  I  thought  you 
had  settled  it  with  Sir  Thomas." 

"Me!  never.    I  never  spoke  a  syllable  about  it 

[37] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

to  Sir  Thomas,  nor  he  to  me.  Fanny  hve  with 
me!  the  last  thing  in  the  world  for  me  to  think 
of,  or  for  anybody  to  wish  that  really  knows  us 
both.  Good  heaven!  what  could  I  do  with 
Fanny?  Me!  a  poor,  helpless,  forlorn  widow, 
unfit  for  anything,  my  spirits  quite  broke  down; 
what  could  I  do  with  a  girl  at  her  time  of  life? 
A  girl  of  fifteen!  the  very  age  of  all  others  to 
need  most  attention  and  care,  and  put  the  cheer- 
fullest  spirits  to  the  test!  Sure  Sir  Thomas  could 
seriously  expect  such  a  thing!  Sir  Thomas  is  too 
much  my  friend.  Nobody  that  wishes  me  well, 
I  am  sure,  would  propose  it.  How  came  Sir 
Thomas  to  speak  to  you  about  it?" 

"Indeed,  I  do  not  know.  I  suppose  he  thought 
it  best." 

"But  what  did  he  say?  He  could  not  say  he 
wished  me  to  take  Fanny.  I  am  sure  in  his  heart 
he  could  not  wish  me  to  do  it." 

"No;  he  only  said  he  thought  it  very  likely; 
and  I  thought  so  too.  We  both  thought  it  would 
be  a  comfort  to  you.  But  if  you  do  not  like  it, 
there  is  no  more  to  be  said.  She  is  no  incum- 
brance here." 

"Dear  Sister,  if  you  consider  my  unhappy 
state,  how  can  she  be  any  comfort  to  me?  Here 
am  I,  a  poor  desolate  widow,  deprived  of  the  best 
of  husbands,  my  healtli  gone  in  attending  and 
nursing  him,  my  spirits  still  worse,  all  my  peace 
[38] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

in  this  world  destroyed,  with  hardly  enough  to 
support  me  in  the  rank  of  a  gentlewoman,  and 
enable  me  to  live  so  as  not  to  disgrace  the  memory 
of  the  dear  departed — what  possible  comfort 
could  I  have  in  taking  such  a  charge  upon  me  as 
Fanny?  If  I  could  wish  it  for  my  own  sake,  I 
would  not  do  so  unjust  a  thing  by  the  poor  girl. 
She  is  in  good  hands,  and  sure  of  doing  well.  I 
must  struggle  through  my  sorrows  and  difficul- 
ties as  I  can." 

"Then  you  will  not  mind  living  by  yourself 
quite  alone?" 

"Dear  Lady  Bertram,  what  am  I  fit  for  but 
solitude?  Now  and  then  I  shall  hope  to  have  a 
friend  in  my  little  cottage  ( I  shall  always  have  a 
bed  for  a  friend)  ;  but  the  most  part  of  my  future 
days  vdll  be  spent  in  utter  seclusion.  If  I  can  but 
make  both  ends  meet,  that's  all  I  ask  for." 

"I  hope,  sister,  things  are  not  so  very  bad  vdth 
you  neither,  considering  Sir  Thomas  says  you 
will  have  six  hundred  a-year." 

"Lady  Bertram,  I  do  not  complain.  I  know 
I  cannot  live  as  I  have  done,  but  I  must  retrench 
where  I  can,  and  learn  to  be  a  better  manager.  I 
have  heen  a  liberal  housekeeper  enough,  but  I 
shall  not  be  ashamed  to  practise  economy  now. 
INIy  situation  is  as  much  altered  as  my  income.  A 
great  many  things  were  due  from  poor  ]\Ir  Nor- 
ris,  as  clergy    of    the    parish,    that    cannot    be 

[39] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

expected  from  me.  It  is  unknown  how  much  was 
consumed  in  our  kitchen  by  odd  comers  and  goers. 
At  the  White  House,  matters  must  be  better 
looked  after.  I  7nust  live  within  my  income,  or  I 
shall  be  miserable;  and  I  own  it  would  give  me 
great  satisfaction  to  be  able  to  do  rather  more,  to 
lay  by  a  little  at  the  end  of  the  year." 

"I  dare  say  you  will.  You  always  do,  don't 
you?" 

"My  object,  Lady  Bertram,  is  to  be  of  use  to 
those  that  come  after  me.  It  is  for  your  chil- 
dren's good  that  I  wish  to  be  richer.  I  have 
nobody  else  to  care  for ;  but  I  should  be  very  glad 
to  think  I  could  leave  a  little  trifle  among  them 
worth  their  having." 

"You  are  very  good,  but  do  not  trouble  your- 
self about  them.  They  are  sure  of  being  well 
provided  for.    Sir  Thomas  will  take  care  of  that." 

"Why,  you  know.  Sir  Thomas's  means  will  be 
rather  straitened  if  the  Antigua  estate  is  to  make 
such  poor  returns." 

"Oh !  that  will  soon  be  settled.  Sir  Thomas  has 
been  writing  about  it,  I  know." 

"Well,  Lady  Bertram,"  said  Mrs  Norris,  mov- 
ing to  go,  "I  can  only  say  that  my  sole  desire  is  to 
be  of  use  to  your  family :  and  so,  if  Sir  Thomas 
should  ever  speak  again  about  my  taking  Fanny, 
you  will  be  able  to  say  that  my  health  and  spirits 
put  it  quite  out  of  the  question;  besides  that,  I 
[40] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

really  should  not  have  a  bed  to  give  her,  for  I 
must  keep  a  spare  room  for  a  friend." 

Lady  Bertram  repeated  enough  of  this  con- 
versation to  her  husband  to  convince  him  how 
much  he  had  mistaken  his  sister-in-law's  views; 
and  she  was  from  that  moment  perfectly  safe 
from  all  expectation,  or  the  slightest  allusion  to 
it  from  him.  He  could  not  but  wonder  at  her 
refusing  to  do  anything  for  a  niece  whom  she 
had  been  so  forward  to  adopt;  but,  as  she  took 
early  care  to  make  him,  as  well  as  Lady  Bertram, 
understand  that  whatever  she  possessed  was  de- 
signed for  their  family,  he  soon  grew  reconciled 
to  a  distinction  which,  at  the  same  time  that  it 
was  advantageous  and  complimentary  to  them, 
would  enable  him  better  to  provide  for  Fanny 
himself. 

Fanny  soon  learnt  how  unnecessary  had  been 
her  fears  of  a  removal :  and  her  spontaneous,  un- 
taught felicity  on  the  discovery,  conveyed  some 
consolation  to  Edmund  for  his  disappointment  in 
what  he  had  expected  to  be  so  essentially  service- 
able to  her.  Mrs  Norris  took  possession  of  the 
White  House,  the  Grants  arrived  at  the  Parson- 
age, and  these  events  over,  everything  at  Mans- 
field went  on  for  some  time  as  usual. 

The  Grants  showing  a  disposition  to  be 
friendly  and  sociable,  gave  great  satisfaction  in 
the  main  among  their  new  acquaintance.     They 

[41] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

had  their  faults,  and  Mrs  Norris  soon  found  them 
out.  The  Dr.  was  very  fond  of  eating,  and 
would  have  a  good  dinner  every  day;  and  Mrs 
Grant,  instead  of  contriving  to  gratify  him  at 
little  expense,  gave  her  cook  as  high  wages  as 
they  did  at  Mansfield  Park,  and  was  scarcely 
ever  seen  in  her  offices.  Mrs  Norris  could  not 
speak  with  any  temper  of  such  grievances,  nor  of 
the  quantity  of  butter  and  eggs  that  were  regu- 
larly consumed  in  the  house.  "Nobody  loved 
plenty  and  hospitality  more  than  herself ;  nobody 
more  hated  pitiful  doings;  the  Parsonage,  she 
believed,  had  never  been  wanting  in  comforts  of 
any  sort,  had  never  borne  a  bad  character  in  her 
thne,  but  this  was  a  way  of  going  on  that  she 
could  not  understand.  A  fine  lady  in  a  country 
parsonage  was  quite  out  of  place.  Her  store- 
room, she  thought,  might  have  been  good  enough 
for  Mrs  Grant  to  go  into.  Enquire  where  she 
would,  she  could  not  find  out  that  Mrs  Grant  had 
ever  had  more  than  five  thousand  pounds." 

Lady  Bertram  listened  without  much  interest 
to  this  sort  of  invective.  She  could  not  enter  into 
the  wrongs  of  an  economist,  but  she  felt  all  the 
injuries  of  beauty  in  Mrs  Grant's  being  so  well 
settled  in  life  without  being  handsome,  and  ex- 
pressed her  astonishment  on  that  point  almost  as 
often,  though  not  so  diffusely,  as  Mrs  Norris  dis- 
cussed the  other. 
[42] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

These  opinions  had  been  hardly  canvassed  a 
year  before  another  event  arose  of  such  impor- 
tance in  the  family,  as  might  fairly  claim  some 
place  in  the  thoughts  and  conversation  of  the 
ladies.  Sir  Thomas  found  it  expedient  to  go  to 
Antigua  himself,  for  the  better  arrangement  of 
his  affairs,  and  he  took  his  eldest  son  with  him.  In 
the  hope  of  detaching  him  from  some  bad  connec- 
tions at  home.  They  left  England  with  the  prob- 
ability of  being  nearly  a  twelvemonth  absent. 

The  necessity  of  the  measure  in  a  pecuniary 
light,  and  the  hope  of  its  utility  to  his  son,  recon- 
ciled Sir  Thomas  to  the  effort  of  quitting  the 
rest  of  his  family,  and  of  leaving  his  daughters 
to  the  direction  of  others  at  their  present  most 
interesting  time  of  life.  He  could  not  think 
Lady  Bertram  quite  equal  to  supply  his  place 
with  them,  or  rather,  to  perform  what  should  have 
been  her  own;  but,  in  Mrs  Norris's  watchful  at- 
tention, and  in  Edmund's  judgment,  he  had 
sufficient  confidence  to  make  him  go  without 
fears  for  their  conduct. 

Lady  Bertram  did  not  at  all  like  to  have  her 
husband  leave  her;  but  she  was  not  disturbed  by 
any  alarm  for  his  safety,  or  solicitude  for  his 
comfort,  being  one  of  those  persons  who  think 
nothing  can  be  dangerous  or  difficult,  or 
fatiguing,  to  anybody  but  themselves. 

The  Miss  Bertrams  were  much  to  be  pitied  on 

[43] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

the  occasion;  not  for  their  sorrow,  but  for  their 
want  of  it.  Their  father  was  no  object  of  love 
to  them ;  he  had  never  seemed  the  friend  of  their 
pleasures,  and  his  absence  was  unhappily  most 
welcome.  They  were  relieved  by  it  from  all  re- 
straint; and  without  aiming  at  one  gratification 
that  would  probably  have  been  forbidden  by  Sir 
Thomas,  they  felt  themselves  immediately  at 
their  own  disposal,  and  to  have  every  indulgence 
within  their  reach.  Fanny's  relief,  and  her  con- 
sciousness of  it,  were  quite  equal  to  her  cousins' ; 
but  a  more  tender  nature  suggested  that  her  feel- 
ings were  ungrateful,  and  she  really  grieved  be- 
cause she  could  not  grieve.  "Sir  Thomas,  who 
had  done  so  much  for  her  and  her  brothers,  and 
who  was  gone  perhaps  never  to  return!  that  she 
should  see  him  go  without  a  tear !  it  was  a  shame- 
ful insensibility."  He  had  said  to  her,  moreover, 
on  the  very  last  morning,  that  he  hoped  she  might 
see  William  again  in  the  course  of  the  ensuing 
winter,  and  had  charged  her  to  write  and  invite 
him  to  Mansfield,  as  soon  as  the  squadron  to 
which  he  belonged  should  be  knoMn  to  be  in  Eng- 
land. "This  was  so  thoughtful  and  kind!"  and 
would  he  only  have  smiled  upon  her,  and  called 
her  "my  dear  Fanny,"  while  he  said  it,  every  for- 
mer frown  or  cold  address  might  have  been  for- 
gotten. But  he  had  ended  his  speech  in  a  way  to 
sink  her  in  sad  mortification,  by  adding,  "If 
[44] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

William  does  come  to  Mansfield,  I  hope  you  may 
be  able  to  convince  him  that  the  many  years  which 
have  passed  since  you  parted  have  not  been  spent 
on  your  side  entirely  without  improvement; 
though,  I  fear,  he  must  find  his  sister  at  sixteen 
in  some  respects  too  much  like  his  sister  at  ten." 
She  cried  bitterly  over  this  reflection  when  her 
uncle  was  gone;  and  her  cousins,  on  seeing  her 
with  red  eyes,  set  her  down  as  a  hypocrite. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TOM  BERTRAM  had  of  late  spent  so  lit- 
tle of  his  time  at  home,  that  he  could  be 
only  nominally  missed;  and  Lady  Ber- 
tram was  soon  astonished  to  find  how  very  well 
they  did  even  without  his  father,  how  well 
Edmund  could  supply  his  place  in  carving,  talk- 
ing to  the  steward,  writing  to  the  attorney, 
settling  with  the  servants,  and  equally  saving  her 
from  all  possible  fatigue  or  exertion  in  every  par- 
ticular, but  that  of  directing  her  letters. 

The  earliest  intelligence  of  the  travellers'  safe 
arrival  at  Antigua,  after  a  favourable  voyage,  was 
received ;  though  not  before  Mrs  Norris  had  been 
indulging  in  very  dreadful  fears,  and  trying  to 
make  Edmund  participate  them  whenever  she 
could  get  him  alone;  and  as  she  depended  on 

[45] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

being  the  first  person  made  acquainted  with  any- 
fatal  catastrophe,  she  had  ah'eady  arranged  the 
manner  of  breaking  it  to  all  the  others,  when  Sir 
Thomas's  assurances  of  their  both  being  alive  and 
well,  made  it  necessary  to  lay  by  her  agitation  and 
affectionate  preparatory  speeches  for  a  while. 

The  winter  came  and  passed  without  their 
being  called  for;  the  accounts  continued  per- 
fectly good;  and  ]Mrs  Norris,  in  promoting 
gaieties  for  her  nieces,  assisting  their  toilets,  dis- 
playing their  accomplishments,  and  looking  about 
for  their  future  husbands,  had  so  much  to  do,  as 
in  addition  to  all  her  own  household  cares,  some 
interference  in  those  of  her  sister,  and  ]Mrs 
Grant's  wasteful  doings  to  overlook,  left  her  very 
little  occasion  to  be  occupied  in  fears  for  the 
absent. 

The  Miss  Bertrams  were  now  fully  established 
among  the  belles  of  the  neighbourhood;  and  as 
they  joined  to  beauty  and  brilliant  acquirements 
a  manner  naturally  easy,  and  carefully  formed  to 
general  civility  and  obligingness,  they  possessed 
its  favour  as  well  as  its  admiration.  Their  vanity 
was  in  such  good  order,  that  they  seemed  to  be 
quite  free  from  it,  and  gave  themselves  no  airs; 
while  the  praises  attending  such  behaviour,  se- 
cured and  brought  round  by  their  aunt,  served  to 
strengthen  them  in  believing  they  had  no  faults. 

Lady  Bertram  did  not  go  into  public  with 
■       [46] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

her  daughters.  She  was  too  indolent  even  to 
accept  a  mother's  gratification  in  witnessing  their 
success  and  enjoyment  at  the  expense  of  any  per- 
sonal trouble,  and  the  charge  was  made  over  to 
her  sister,  who  desired  nothing  better  than  a  post 
of  such  honourable  representation,  and  very  thor- 
oughly relished  the  means  it  afforded  her  of  mix- 
ing in  society  without  having  horses  to  hire. 

Fanny  had  no  share  in  the  festivities  of  the  sea- 
son; but  she  enjoyed  being  avowedly  useful  as 
her  aunt's  companion,  when  they  called  away  the 
rest  of  the  f amity;  and,  as  Miss  Lee  had  left 
Mansfield,  she  naturally  became  everything  to 
Lady  Bertram  during  the  night  of  a  ball  or  a 
party.  She  talked  to  her,  listened  to  her,  read  to 
her;  and  the  tranquillity  of  such  evenings,  her 
perfect  security  in  such  a  tete-a-tete  from  any 
sound  of  unkindness,  was  unspeakably  welcome 
to  a  mind  which  had  seldom  known  a  pause  in  its 
alarms  or  embarrassments.  As  to  her  cousins' 
gaieties,  she  loved  to  hear  an  account  of  them, 
especially  of  the  balls,  and  whom  Edmund  had 
danced  with;  but  thought  too  lowly  of  her  own 
situation  to  imagine  she  should  ever  be  admitted 
to  the  same,  and  listened,  therefore,  without  an 
idea  of  any  nearer  concern  in  them.  Upon  the 
whole,  it  was  a  comfortable  winter  to  her;  for 
though  it  brought  no  William  to  England,  the 
never-f  aihng  hope  of  his  arrival  was  worth  much. 

[47] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

The  ensuing  spring  deprived  her  of  her  valued 
friend  the  old  grey  pony ;  and  for  some  time  she 
was  in  danger  of  feeling  the  loss  in  her  health 
as  well  as  in  her  affections;  for  in  spite  of  the 
acknowledged  importance  of  her  riding  on  horse- 
back, no  measures  were  taken  for  mounting  her 
again,  "because,"  as  it  was  observed  by  her  aunts, 
"she  might  ride  one  of  her  cousins'  horses  at  any 
time  when  they  did  not  want  them,"  and  as  the 
Miss  Bertrams  regularly  wanted  their  horses 
every  fine  day,  and  had  no  idea  of  carrying  their 
obliging  manners  to  the  sacrifice  of  any  real 
pleasure,  that  time,  of  course,  never  came.  They 
took  their  cheerful  rides  in  the  fine  mornings  of 
April  and  May;  and  Fanny  either  sat  at  home 
the  whole  day  with  one  aunt,  or  walked  beyond 
her  strength  at  the  instigation  of  the  other ;  Lady 
Bertram  holding  exercise  to  be  as  unnecessary 
for  everybody  as  it  was  unpleasant  to  herself; 
and  Mrs  Norris,  who  was  walking  all  day,  think- 
ing everybody  ought  to  walk  as  much.  Edmund 
was  absent  at  this  time,  or  the  evil  would  have 
been  earlier  remedied.  When  he  returned,  to 
understand  how  [Fanny]  was  situated,  and  per- 
ceived its  ill  effects,  there  seemed  with  him  but 
one  thing  to  be  done ;  and  that  "Fanny  must  have 
a  horse,"  was  the  resolute  declaration  with  which 
he  opposed  whatever  could  be  urged  by  the 
supineness  of  his  mother,  or  the  economy  of  his 
[48] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

aunt,  to  make  it  appear  unimportant.  Mrs  Nor- 
ris  could  not  help  thinking  that  some  steady  old 
thing  might  be  found  among  the  numbers  be- 
longing to  the  Park,  that  would  do  vastly  well ;  or, 
that  one  might  be  borrowed  of  the  steward;  or 
that  perhaps  Dr  Grant  might  now  and  then  lend 
them  the  pony  he  sent  to  the  post.  She  could  not 
but  consider  it  as  absolutely  unnecessary,  and 
even  improper,  that  Fanny  should  have  a  regu- 
lar lady's  horse  of  her  own,  in  the  style  of  her 
cousins.  She  was  sure  Sir  Thomas  had  never 
intended  it:  and  she  must  say,  that  to  be  making 
such  a  purchase  in  his  absence,  and  adding  to  the 
great  expenses  of  his  stable,  at  a  time  when  a 
large  part  of  his  income  was  unsettled,  seemed  to 
her  very  unjustifiable.  "Fanny  must  have  a 
horse,"  was  Edmund's  only  reply.  Mrs  Norris 
could  not  see  it  in  the  same  light.  Lady  Bertram 
did:  she  entirely  agreed  with  her  son  as  to  the 
necessity  of  it,  and  as  to  its  being  considered 
necessary  by  his  father ;  she  only  pleaded  against 
there  being  any  hurry;  she  only  wanted  him  to 
wait  till  Sir  Thomas's  return,  and  then  Sir 
Thomas  might  settle  it  all  himself.  He  would  be 
at  home  in  September,  and  where  would  be  the 
harm  of  only  waiting  till  September? 

Though  Edmund  was  much  more  displeased 
with  his  aunt  than  with  his  mother,  as  evincing 
least  regard  for  her  niece,  he  could  not  help  pay- 

[49] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

ing  more  attention  to  what  she  said,  and  at  length 
determined  on  a  method  of  proceeding  which 
would  obviate  the  risk  of  his  father's  thinking  he 
had  done  too  much,  and  at  the  same  time  procure 
for  Fanny  the  immediate  means  of  exercise, 
which  he  could  not  bear  she  should  be  without. 
He  had  three  horses  of  his  own,  but  not  one  that 
would  carry  a  woman.  Two  of  them  were  hun- 
ters; the  third,  a  useful  road-horse:  this  third  he 
resolved  to  exchange  for  one  that  his  cousin 
might  ride;  he  knew  where  such  a  one  was  to  be 
met  with ;  and  having  once  made  up  his  mind,  the 
whole  business  was  soon  completed.  The  new 
mare  proved  a  treasure ;  with  a  very  little  trouble, 
she  became  exactly  calculated  for  the  purpose, 
and  Fanny  was  then  put  in  almost  full  possession 
of  her.  She  had  not  supposed  before,  that  any- 
thing could  ever  suit  her  like  the  old  grey  pony; 
but  her  delight  in  Edmund's  mare  was  far  be- 
yond any  former  pleasure  of  the  sort;  and  the 
addition  it  was  ever  receiving  in  the  consideration 
of  that  kindness  from  which  her  pleasure  sprung, 
was  beyond  all  her  words  to  express.  She  re- 
garded her  cousin  as  an  example  of  everything 
good  and  great,  as  possessing  worth,  which  no 
one  but  herself  could  ever  appreciate,  and  as 
entitled  to  such  gratitude  from  her,  as  no  feelings 
could  be  strong  enough  to  pay.  Her  sentiments 
towards  him  were  compounded  of  all  that  was 
respectful,  grateful,  confiding  and  tender. 
[50] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

As  the  horse  continued  in  name,  as  well  as  fact, 
the  property  of  Edmund,  Mrs  Norris  could  tol- 
erate its  being  for  Fanny's  use;  and  had  Lady 
Bertram  ever  thought  about  her  own  objection 
again,  he  might  have  been  excused  in  her  eyes  for 
not  waiting  till  Sir  Thomas's  return  in  Septem- 
ber, for  when  September  came.  Sir  Thomas  was 
still  abroad,  and  without  any  near  prospect  of 
finishing  his  business.  Unfavourable  circum- 
stances had  suddenly  arisen  at  a  moment  when 
he  was  beginning  to  turn  all  his  thoughts  towards 
England ;  and  the  very  great  uncertainty  in  which 
everything  was  then  involved  determined  him  on 
sending  home  his  son,  and  waiting  the  final  ar- 
rangement by  himself.  Tom  arrived  safely, 
bringing  an  excellent  account  of  his  father's 
health;  but  to  very  little  purpose,  as  far  as  Mrs 
Norris  was  concerned.  Sir  Thomas's  sending 
away  his  son  seemed  to  her  so  like  a  parent's  care, 
under  the  influence  of  a  foreboding  of  evil  to 
himself,  that  she  could  not  help  feeling  dreadful 
presentiments;  and  as  the  long  evenings  of 
autumn  came  on,  was  so  terribly  haunted  by  these 
ideas,  in  the  sad  solitariness  of  her  cottage,  as  to 
be  obliged  to  take  daily  refuge  in  the  dining-room 
of  the  Park.  The  return  of  winter  engagements, 
however,  was  not  without  Its  effect;  and  in  the 
course  of  their  progress,  her  mind  became  so 
pleasantly  occupied  in  superintending  the  for- 

[51] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

tunes  of  her  eldest  niece,  as  tolerably  to  quiet  her 
nerves.  "If  poor  Sir  Thomas  were  fated  never  to 
return,  it  would  be  peculiarly  consoling  to  see 
their  dear  Maria  well  married,"  she  very  often 
thought;  always  when  they  were  in  the  company 
of  men  of  fortune,  and  particularly  on  the  intro- 
duction of  a  young  man  who  had  recently  suc- 
ceeded to  one  of  the  largest  estates  and  finest 
places  in  the  country. 

Mr  Rushworth  was  from  the  first  struck  with 
the  beauty  of  Miss  Bertram,  and,  being  inclined 
to  marry,  soon  fancied  himself  in  love.  He  was 
a  heavy  young  man,  with  not  more  than  common 
sense;  but  as  there  was  nothing  disagreeable  in 
his  figure  or  address,  the  young  lady  was  well 
pleased  with  her  conquest.  Being  now  in  her 
twenty-first  year,  Maria  Bertram  was  beginning 
to  think  matrimony  a  duty,  and  as  a  marriage 
with  Mr  Rushworth  would  give  her  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  larger  income  than  her  father's,  as  well 
as  ensure  her  the  house  in  town,  which  was  now  a 
prime  object,  it  became,  by  the  same  rule  of 
moral  obligation,  her  evident  duty  to  marry  Mr 
Rushworth  if  she  could.  ISIrs  Norris  was  most 
zealous  in  promoting  the  match,  by  every  sugges- 
tion and  contrivance  likely  to  enhance  its  desir- 
ableness to  either  party ;  and,  among  other  means, 
by  seeking  an  intimacy  with  the  gentleman's 
mother,  who  at  present  lived  with  him,  and  to 
[52] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

whom  she  even  forced  Lady  Bertram  to  go 
through  ten  miles  of  indifferent  road  to  pay  a 
morning  visit.  It  was  not  long  before  a  good 
understanding  took  place  between  this  lady  and 
herself.  Mrs  Rushworth  acknowledged  herself 
very  desirous  that  her  son  should  marry,  and  de- 
clared that  of  all  the  young  ladies  she  had  ever 
seen,  Miss  Bertram  seemed,  by  her  amiable  quali- 
ties and  accomplishments,  the  best  adapted  to 
make  him  happy.  Mrs  Norris  accepted  the  com- 
pliment, and  admired  the  nice  discernment  of 
character  which  could  so  well  distinguish  merit. 
Maria  was  indeed  the  pride  and  delight  of  them 
all — perfectly  faultless — an  angel;  and,  of 
course,  so  surrounded  by  admirers,  must  be  diffi- 
cult in  her  choice :  but  yet,  as  far  as  Mrs  Norris 
could  allow  herself  to  decide  on  so  short  an 
acquaintance,  Mr  Rushworth  appeared  precisely 
the  young  man  to  deserve  and  attach  her. 

After  dancing  with  each  other  at  a  proper 
number  of  balls,  the  young  people  justified  these 
opinions,  and  an  engagement,  with  a  due  refer- 
ence to  the  absent  Sir  Thomas,  was  entered  into, 
much  to  the  satisfaction  of  their  respective  fam- 
ilies, and  of  the  general  lookers-on  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, who  had,  for  many  weeks  past,  felt  the 
expediency  of  Mr  Rushworth's  marrying  Miss 
Bertram. 

It  was  some  months  before  Sir  Thomas's  con- 

[53] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

sent  could  be  received;  but,  in  the  meanwhile,  as 
no  one  felt  a  doubt  of  his  most  cordial  pleasure 
in  the  connection,  the  intercourse  of  the  two  fam- 
ilies was  carried  on  without  restraint,  and  no 
other  attempt  made  at  secrecy,  than  Mrs  Norris's 
talking  of  it  everywhere  as  a  matter  not  to  be 
talked  of  at  present. 

Edmund  was  the  only  one  of  the  family  who 
could  see  a  fault  in  the  business ;  but  no  represen- 
tation of  his  aunt's  could  induce  him  to  find  Mr 
Rushworth  a  desirable  companion.  He  could 
allow  his  sister  to  be  the  best  judge  of  her  own 
happiness,  but  he  was  not  pleased  that  her  hap- 
piness should  centre  in  a  large  income ;  nor  could 
he  refrain  from  often  saying  to  himself,  in  Mr 
Rush  worth's  company — "If  this  man  had  not 
twelve  thousand  a  year,  he  would  be  a  very  stupid 
fellow." 

Sir  Thomas,  however,  was  truly  happj?^  in  the 
prospect  of  an  alliance  so  unquestionably  advan- 
tageous, and  of  which  he  heard  nothing  but  the 
perfectly  good  and  agreeable.  It  was  a  connec- 
tion exactly  of  the  right  sort — in  the  same  county, 
and  the  same  interest — and  his  most  hearty  con- 
currence was  conveyed  as  soon  as  possible.  He 
only  conditioned  that  the  marriage  should  not 
take  place  before  his  return,  which  he  was  again 
looking  eagerly  forward  to.  He  wrote  in  April, 
and  had  strong  hopes  of  settling  everything  to 
[54] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

his  entire  satisfaction,  and  leaving  Antigua  be- 
fore the  end  of  the  summer. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  month  of 
July;  and  Fanny  had  just  reached  her  eighteenth 
year,  when  the  society  of  the  village  received  an 
addition  in  the  brother  and  sister  of  Mrs  Grant, 
a  Mr  and  Miss  Crawford,  the  children  of  her 
mother  by  a  second  marriage.  They  were  young 
people  of  fortune.  The  son  had  a  good  estate 
in  Norfolk,  the  daughter  twenty  thousand 
pounds.  As  children,  their  sister  had  been  always 
very  fond  of  them ;  but,  as  her  own  marriage  had 
been  soon  followed  by  the  death  of  their  common 
parent,  which  left  them  to  the  care  of  a  brother 
of  their  father,  of  whom  Mrs  Grant  knew  noth- 
ing, she  had  scarcely  seen  them  since.  In  their 
uncle's  house  they  had  found  a  kind  home. 
Admiral  and  Mrs  Crawford,  though  agreeing  in 
nothing  else,  were  united  in  affection  for  these 
children,  or,  at  least,  were  no  farther  adverse  in 
their  feelings  than  that  each  had  their  favourite, 
to  whom  they  showed  the  greatest  fondness  of 
the  two.  The  Admiral  dehghted  in  the  boy,  Mrs 
Crawford  doated  on  the  girl;  and  it  was  the 
lady's  death  which  now  obliged  her  protegee, 
after  some  months'  further  trial  at  her  uncle's 
house,  to  find  another  home.  Admiral  Crawford 
was  a  man  of  vicious  conduct,  who  chose,  instead 
of  retaining  his  niece,  to  bring  his  mistress  under 

[65] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

his  own  roof;  and  to  this  Mrs  Grant  was  indebted 
for  her  sister's  proposal  of  coming  to  her,  a  meas- 
ure quite  as  welcome  on  one  side  as  it  could  be 
expedient  on  the  other;  for  Mrs  Grant,  having 
by  this  time  run  through  the  usual  resources  of 
ladies  residing  in  the  country  without  a  family 
of  children — having  more  than  filled  her 
favourite  sitting-room  with  pretty  furniture,  and 
made  a  choice  collection  of  plants  and  poultry — • 
was  very  much  in  want  of  some  variety  at  home. 
The  arrival,  therefore,  of  a  sister  whom  she  had 
always  loved,  and  now  hoped  to  retain  with  her 
as  long  as  she  remained  single,  was  highly  agree- 
able; and  her  chief  anxiety  was,  lest  Mansfield 
should  not  satisfy  the  habits  of  a  young  woman 
who  had  been  mostly  used  to  London. 

Miss  Crawford  was  not  entirely  free  from 
similar  apprehensions,  though  they  arose  princi- 
pally from  doubts  of  her  sister's  style  of  living 
and  tone  of  society;  and  it  was  not  till  after  she 
had  tried  in  vain  to  persuade  her  brother  to  settle 
with  her  at  his  own  country-house,  that  she 
could  resolve  to  hazard  herself  among  her  other 
relations.  To  an5i;hing  like  a  permanence  of 
abode,  or  limitation  of  society,  Henry  Crawford 
had,  unluckily,  a  great  dislike;  he  could  not  ac- 
commodate his  sister  in  an  article  of  such  impor- 
tance ;  but  he  escorted  her,  with  the  utmost  kind- 
ness, into  Northamptonshire,  and  as  readily  en- 
[56] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

gaged  to  fetch  her  away  again,  at  half  an  hour's 
notice,  whenever  she  were  weary  of  the  place. 

The  meeting  was  very  satisfactory  on  each 
side.  Miss  Crawford  found  a  sister  without  pre- 
ciseness  or  rusticity — a  sister's  husband  who 
looked  the  gentleman,  and  a  house  commodious 
and  well  fitted  up;  and  Mrs  Grant  received  in 
those  whom  she  hoped  to  love  better  than  ever,  a 
young  man  and  woman  of  very  prepossessing 
appearance.  Mary  Crawford  was  remarkably 
pretty ;  Henry,  though  not  handsome,  had  air  and 
countenance ;  the  manners  of  both  were  lively  and 
pleasant,  and  Mrs  Grant  immediately  gave  them 
credit  for  everything  else.  She  was  delighted 
with  each,  but  Mary  was  her  dearest  object;  and 
having  never  been  able  to  glory  in  beauty  of  her 
own,  she  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  power  of  being 
proud  of  her  sister's.  She  had  not  waited  her 
arrival  to  look  out  for  a  suitable  match  for  her; 
she  had  fixed  on  Tom  Bertram;  the  eldest  son  of 
a  baronet  was  not  too  good  for  a  girl  of  twenty 
thousand  pounds,  with  all  the  elegance  and  ac- 
complishments which  Mrs  Grant  foresaw  in  her; 
and  being  a  warm-hearted,  unreserved  woman, 
JNIary  had  not  been  three  hours  in  the  house 
before  she  told  her  what  she  had  planned. 

ISIiss  Crawford  was  glad  to  find  it  family  of 
such  consequence  so  very  near  them,  and  not  at 
all  displeased  either  at  her  sister's  early  care,  or 

[57] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

the  choice  it  had  fallen  on.  Matrimony  was  her 
object,  provided  she  could  marry  well:  and  hav- 
ing seen  Mr  Bertram  in  town,  she  knew  that  ob- 
jection could  no  more  be  made  to  his  person  than 
to  his  situation  in  life.  While  she  treated  it  as  a 
joke,  therefore,  she  did  not  forget  to  think  of  it 
seriously.  The  scheme  was  soon  repeated  to 
Henry. 

"And  now,"  added  Mrs  Grant,  "I  have 
thought  of  something  to  make  it  complete.  I 
should  dearly  love  to  settle  you  both  in  this 
country;  and  therefore,  Henry,  you  shall  marry 
the  youngest  Miss  Bertram,  a  nice,  handsome, 
good-humoured,  accomplished  girl,  who  will 
make  you  very  happy." 

Henry  bowed  and  thanked  her. 

"My  dear  sister,"  said  Mary,  "if  you  can  per- 
suade him  into  anything  of  the  sort,  it  will  be  a 
fresh  matter  of  delight  to  me  to  find  myself  allied 
to  anybody  so  clever,  and  I  sliall  only  regret  that 
you  have  not  half-a-dozen  daughters  to  dispose 
of.  If  you  can  persuade  Henry  to  marry,  you 
must  have  the  address  of  a  Frenchwoman.  All 
that  English  abilities  can  do  has  been  tried 
already.  I  have  three  very  particular  friends 
who  have  been  all  dying  for  him  in  their  turn ;  and 
the  pains  which  they,  their  mothers  (very  clever 
women),  as  well  as  my  dear  aunt  and  myself, 
have  taken  to  reason,  coax,  or  trick  him  into  mar- 
[58] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

rying,  is  inconceivable!  He  is  the  most  horrible 
flirt  that  can  be  imagined.  If  your  Miss  Ber- 
trams do  not  like  to  have  their  hearts  broke,  let 
them  avoid  Henry." 

"My  dear  brother,  I  will  not  believe  this  of 

you." 

"No,  I  am  sure  you  are  too  good.  You  will  be 
kinder  than  Mary.  You  will  allow  for  the 
doubts  of  youth  and  inexperience.  I  am  of  a 
cautious  temper,  and  unwilling  to  risk  my  hap- 
piness in  a  hurry.  Nobody  can  think  more  highly 
of  the  matrimonial  state  than  myself.  I  consider 
the  blessing  of  a  wife  as  most  justly  described  in 
those  discreet  lines  of  the  poet  'Heaven's  last  best 

gift' " 

"There,  Mrs  Grant,  you  see  how  he  dwells  on 
one  word,  and  only  look  at  his  smile.  I  assure 
you  he  is  very  detestable;  the  Admiral's  lessons 
have  quite  spoiled  him." 

"I  pay  very  little  regard,"  said  Mrs  Grant,  "to 
what  any  j^oung  person  says  on  the  subject  of 
marriage.  If  they  profess  a  disinclination  for 
it,  I  only  set  it  down  that  they  have  not  yet  seen 
the  right  person." 

Dr  Grant  laughingly  congratulated  Miss 
Crawford  on  feeling  no  disinclination  to  the  state 
herself. 

"Oh  yes!  I  am  not  at  all  ashamed  of  it.  I 
would  have  everybody  marry  if  they  can  do  it 

[59] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

properly:  I  do  not  like  to  have  people  throw 
themselves  away:  but  everybody  should  marry 
as  soon  as  they  can  do  it  to  advantage." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  young  people  were  pleased  with  each 
other  from  the  first.  On  each  side  there 
was  much  to  attract,  and  their  acquaint- 
ance soon  promised  as  early  an  intimacy  as  good 
manners  would  warrant.  Miss  Crawford's 
beauty  did  her  no  disservice  with  the  Miss  Bert- 
rams. They  were  too  handsome  themselves  to 
dislike  any  woman  for  being  so  too,  and  were 
almost  as  much  charmed  as  their  brothers  with 
her  lively  dark  eye,  clear  brown  complexion,  and 
general  prettiness.  Had  she  been  tall,  full 
formed,  and  fair,  it  might  have  been  more  of  a 
trial ;  but  as  it  was,  there  could  be  no  comparison ; 
and  she  was  most  allowably  a  sweet  pretty  girl, 
while  they  were  the  finest  young  women  in  the 
country. 

Her  brother  was  not  handsome ;  no,  when  they 
first  saw  him  he  w^as  absolutely  plain,  black  and 
plain ;  but  still  he  was  the  gentleman,  ^vith  a  pleas- 
ing address.  The  second  meeting  proved  him 
not  so  very  plain;  he  was  plain,  to  be  sure,  but 
[60] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

then  he  had  so  much  countenance,  and  his  teeth 
were  so  good,  and  he  was  so  well  made,  that  one 
soon  forgot  he  was  plain ;  and  after  a  third  inter- 
view, after  dining  in  company  with  him  at  the 
Parsonage,  he  w^as  no  longer  allowed  to  be  called 
so  by  anybody.  He  was,  in  fact,  the  most  agree- 
able young  man  the  sisters  had  ever  known,  and 
they  were  equally  delighted  with  him.  Miss 
Bertram's  engagement  made  him  in  equity  the 
property  of  Julia, of  which  Julia  was  fully  aware; 
and  before  he  had  been  at  IMansfield  a  week,  she 
was  quite  ready  to  be  fallen  in  love  with. 

Maria's  notions  on  the  subject  were  more  con- 
fused and  indistinct.  She  did  not  want  to  see  or 
understand.  "There  could  be  no  harm  in  her  lik- 
ing an  agreeable  man — everybody  knew  her  situ- 
ation— Mr  Crawford  must  take  care  of  himself." 
Mr  Crawford  did  not  mean  to  be  in  any  danger ! 
the  Miss  Bertrams  were  worth  pleasing,  and  were 
ready  to  be  pleased;  and  he  began  with  no  object 
but  of  making  them  like  him.  He  did  not  want 
them  to  die  of  love;  but  with  sense  and  temper 
which  ought  to  have  made  him  judge  and  feel 
better,  he  allowed  himself  great  latitude  on  such 
points. 

"I  like  your  Miss  Bertrams  exceedingly,  sis- 
ter," said  he,  as  he  returned  from  attending  them 
to  their  carriage  after  the  said  dinner  visit;  "they 
are  very  elegant,  agreeable  girls." 

[61] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"So  they  are,  indeed,  and  I  am  delighted  to 
hear  you  say  it.    But  you  hke  Julia  best." 

"Oh  yes!    I  like  Julia  best." 

"But  do  you  really?  for  JNIiss  Bertram  is  in 
general  thought  the  handsomest." 

"So  I  should  suppose.  She  has  the  advantage 
in  every  feature,  and  I  prefer  her  countenance; 
but  I  like  Julia  best;  Miss  Bertram  is  certainly 
the  handsomest,  and  I  have  found  her  the  most 
agreeable,  but  I  shall  always  like  Julia  best,  be- 
cause you  order  me." 

"I  shall  not  talk  to  you,  Henry,  but  I  know 
you  will  like  her  best  at  last." 

"Do  not  I  tell  you  that  I  like  her  best  at  first?" 

"And  besides,  Miss  Bertram  is  engaged. 
Remember  that,  my  dear  brother.  Her  choice  is 
made." 

"Yes,  and  I  like  her  the  better  for  it.  An 
engaged  woman  is  always  more  agreeable  than  a 
disengaged.  She  is  satisfied  with  herself.  Her 
cares  are  over,  and  she  feels  that  she  may  exert 
all  her  powers  of  pleasing  without  suspicion.  All 
is  safe  with  a  lady  engaged;  no  harm  can  be 
done." 

"Why,  as  to  that,  Mr  Rushworth  is  a  very  good 
sort  of  young  man,  and  it  is  a  great  match  for 
her." 

"But  Miss  Bertram  does  not  care  three  straws 
for  him;  that  is  your  opinion  of  your  intimate 
[62] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

friend.  I  do  not  subscribe  to  it.  I  am  sure  Miss 
Bertram  is  very  much  attached  to  Mr  Rushworth. 
I  could  see  it  in  her  eyes,  when  he  was  mentioned. 
I  think  too  well  of  Miss  Bertram  to  suppose  she 
would  ever  give  her  hand  without  her  heart." 

"Mary,  how  shall  we  manage  him?" 

"We  must  leave  him  to  himself,  I  believe. 
Talking  does  no  good.  He  will  be  taken  in  at 
last." 

"But  I  would  not  have  him  taken  in;  I  would 
not  have  him  duped ;  I  would  have  it  all  fair  and 
honourable." 

"Oh  dear !  let  him  stand  his  chance  and  be  taken 
in.  It  will  do  just  as  well.  Everybody  is  taken 
in  at  some  period  or  other." 

"Not  always  in  marriage,  dear  Mary." 

"In  marriage  especially.  With  all  due  respect 
to  such  of  the  present  company  as  chance  to  be 
married,  my  dear  Mrs  Grant,  there  is  not  one  in 
a  hundred  of  either  sex  who  is  not  taken  in  when 
they  marry.  Look  where  I  will,  I  see  that  it  is 
so ;  and  I  feel  that  it  must  be  so,  when  I  consider 
that  it  is,  of  all  transactions,  the  one  in  which 
people  expect  most  from  others,  and  are  least 
honest  themselves." 

"Ah!  You  have  been  in  a  bad  school  for  mat- 
rimony, in  Hill-street." 

"My  poor  aunt  had  certainly  little  cause  to  love 
the  state;  but,  however,  speaking  from  my  own 

[63] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

observation,  it  is  a  manoeuvring  business.  I  know 
so  many  who  have  married  in  the  full  expectation 
and  confidence  of  some  one  particular  advantage 
in  the  connection,  or  accomplishment,  or  good 
quality  in  the  person,  who  have  found  themselves 
entirely  deceived,  and  been  obliged  to  put  up 
with  exactly  the  reverse.  What  is  this  but  a  take 
in?" 

"My  dear  child,  there  must  be  a  little  imagina- 
tion here.  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  cannot  quite 
believe  you.  Depend  upon  it,  you  see  but  half. 
You  see  the  evil,  but  you  do  not  see  the  consola- 
tion. There  will  be  little  rubs  and  disappoint- 
ments everywhere,  and  we  are  all  apt  to  expect 
too  much;  but  then,  if  one  scheme  of  happiness 
fails,  human  nature  turns  to  another;  if  the  first 
calculation  is  wrong,  we  make  a  second  better; 
we  find  comfort  somewhere — and  those  evil- 
minded  observers,  dearest  Mary,  who  make  much 
of  a  little,  are  more  taken  in  and  deceived  than 
the  parties  themselves." 

"Well  done,  sister!  I  honour  your  esprit  du 
corps.  When  I  am  a  wife,  I  mean  to  be  just  as 
staunch  myself;  and  I  wish  my  friends  in  gen- 
eral would  be  so  too.  It  would  save  me  many  a 
heart-ache." 

"You  are  as  bad  as  your  brother,  Mary ;  but  we 
will  cure  you  both.     Mansfield  shall  cure  you 
both,  and  without  any  taking  in.     Stay  with  us, 
and  we  will  cure  you." 
[64] 


^^ 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

The  Crawfords,  without  wanting  to  be  cured, 
were  very  wilHng  to  stay.  Mary  was  satisfied 
with  the  Parsonage  as  a  present  home,  and  Henry 
equally  ready  to  lengthen  his  visit.  He  had  come, 
intending  to  spend  only  a  few  days  with  them; 
but  JNIansfield  promised  well,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing to  call  him  elsewhere.  It  delighted  Mrs 
Grant  to  keep  them  both  with  her,  and  Dr  Grant 
was  exceedingly  well  contented  to  have  it  so:  a 
talking  pretty  young  woman  like  Miss  Crawford 
is  always  pleasant  society  to  an  indolent,  stay-at- 
home  man;  and  Mr  Crawford's  being  his  guest 
was  an  excuse  for  drinking  claret  every  day. 

The  Miss  Bertrams'  admiration  of  Mr  Craw- 
ford was  more  rapturous  than  anything  which 
Miss  Crawford's  habits  made  her  likely  to  feel. 
She  acknowledged,  however,  that  the  Mr  Ber- 
trams were  very  fine  young  men,  that  two  such 
young  men  were  not  often  seen  together  even  in 
London,  and  that  their  manners,  particularly 
those  of  the  eldest,  were  very  good.  He  had  been 
much  in  London,  and  had  more  liveliness  and 
gallantry  than  Edmund,  and  must,  therefore,  be 
preferred;  and,  indeed,  his  being  the  eldest  was 
another  strong  claim.  She  had  felt  an  early  pre- 
sentiment that  she  should  like  the  eldest  best. 
She  knew  it  was  her  way. 

Tom  Bertram  must  have  been  thought  pleas- 
ant, indeed,  at  any  rate ;  he  was  the  sort  of  young 

[65] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

man  to  be  generally  liked,  his  agreeableness  was 
of  the  kind  to  be  oftener  found  agreeable  than 
some  endowments  of  a  higher  stamp,  for  he  had 
easy  manners,  excellent  spirits,  a  large  acquaint- 
ance, and  a  great  deal  to  say ;  and  the  reversion  of 
IMansfield  Park,  and  a  baronetcy,  did  no  harm 
to  all  this.  Miss  Crawford  soon  felt  that  he  and 
his  situation  might  do.  She  looked  about  her 
with  due  consideration,  and  found  almost  every- 
thing in  his  favour,  a  park,  a  real  park,  five  miles 
round,  a  spacious  modern-built  house,  so  well 
placed  and  well  screened  as  to  deserve  to  be  in 
any  collection  of  engravings  of  gentlemen's  seats 
in  the  kingdom,  and  wanting  only  to  be  com- 
pletely new  furnished — pleasant  sisters,  a  quiet 
mother,  and  an  agreeable  man  himself — with  the 
advantage  of  being  tied  up  from  much  gaming 
at  present,  by  a  promise  to  his  father,  and  of 
being  Sir  Thomas  hereafter.  It  might  do  very 
well ;  she  believed  she  should  acce2:>t  him ;  and  she 
began  accordingly  to  interest  herself  a  little  about 

the  horse  which  he  had  to  run  at  the  B races. 

These  races  were  to  call  him  away  not  long 
after  their  acquaintance  began;  and  as  it  ap- 
peared that  the  family  did  not,  from  his  usual 
goings  on,  expect  him  back  again  for  many 
weeks,  it  would  bring  his  passion  to  an  early 
proof.  Much  was  said  on  his  side  to  induce  her 
to  attend  the  races,  and  schemes  were  made  for  a 
[66] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

large  party  to  them,  with  all  the  eagerness  of 
inclination,  but  it  would  only  do  to  be  talked  of. 

And  Fanny,  what  was  she  doing  and  thinking 
all  this  while?  and  what  was  her  opinion  of  the 
newcomers?  Few  young  ladies  of  eighteen 
could  be  less  called  on  to  speak  their  opinion  than 
Fanny.  In  a  quiet  way,  very  little  attended  to, 
she  paid  her  tribute  of  admiration  to  INIiss  Craw- 
ford's beauty;  but  as  she  still  continued  to  think 
Mr  Crawford  very  plain,  in  spite  of  her  two 
cousins  having  repeatedly  proved  the  contrary, 
she  never  mentioned  him.  The  notice  which  she 
excited  herself,  was  to  this  effect.  "I  begin  now 
to  understand  you  all,  except  Miss  Price,"  said 
Miss  Crawford,  as  she  was  walking  with  the  Mr 
Bertrams.  "Pray,  is  she  out,  or  is  she  not?  I 
am  puzzled.  She  dined  at  the  Parsonage,  with 
the  rest  of  you,  which  seemed  like  being  out;  and 
yet  she  says  so  little,  that  I  can  hardly  suppose 
she  is.'' 

Edmund,  to  whom  this  was  chiefly  addressed, 
replied,  "I  believe  I  know  what  you  mean,  but  I 
will  not  undertake  to  answer  the  question.  My 
cousin  is  grown  up.  She  has  the  age  and  sense 
of  a  woman,  but  the  outs  and  not  outs  are  be- 
yond me." 

"And  yet,  in  general,  nothing  can  be  more 
easily  ascertained.  The  distinction  is  so  broad. 
Manners  as  well  as  appearance  are,  generally 

[67] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

speaking,  so  totally  different.  Till  now,  I  could 
not  have  supposed  it  possible  to  be  mistaken  as  to 
a  girl's  being  out  or  not.  A  girl  not  out,  has 
always  the  same  sort  of  dress :  a  close  bonnet,  for 
instance;  looks  very  demure,  and  never  says  a 
word.  You  may  smile,  but  it  is  so,  I  assure  you ; 
and  except  that  it  is  sometimes  carried  a  little  too 
far,  it  is  all  very  proper.  Girls  should  be  quiet 
and  modest.  The  most  objectionable  part  is,  that 
the  alteration  of  manners  on  being  introduced 
into  company  is  frequently  too  sudden.  They 
sometimes  pass  in  such  very  little  time  from  re- 
serve to  quite  the  opposite — to  confidence!  That 
is  the  faulty  part  of  the  present  system.  One 
does  not  like  to  see  a  girl  of  eighteen  or  nine- 
teen so  immediately  up  to  everything — and  per- 
haps when  one  has  seen  her  hardly  able  to  speak 
the  year  before.  Mr  Bertram,  I  dare  say  you 
have  sometimes  met  with  such  changes." 

"I  believe  I  have,  but  this  is  hardly  fair;  I  see 
what  you  are  at.  You  are  quizzing  me  and  Miss 
Anderson." 

"No,  indeed.  Miss  Anderson !  I  do  not  know 
who  or  what  you  mean.  I  am  quite  in  the  dark. 
But  I  will  quiz  you  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure, 
if  you  will  tell  me  what  about." 

"Ah!  you  carry  it  off  very  well,  but  I  cannot 
be  quite  so  far  imposed  on.  You  must  have  had 
Miss  Anderson  in  your  eye,  in  describing  an  al- 
[68] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

tered  young  lady.  You  paint  too  accurately  for 
mistake.  It  was  exactly  so.  The  Andersons  of 
Baker  Street.  We  were  speaking  of  them  the 
other  day,  you  know.  Edmund,  you  have  heard 
me  mention  Charles  Anderson.  The  circum- 
stance was  precisely  as  this  lady  has  represented 
it.  When  Anderson  first  introduced  me  to  his 
family,  about  two  years  ago,  his  sister  was  not 
out,  and  I  could  not  get  her  to  speak  to  me.  I 
sat  there  an  hour  one  morning  waiting  for  An- 
derson, with  only  her  and  a  little  girl  or  two  in 
the  room,  the  governess  being  sick  or  run  away, 
and  the  mother  in  and  out  every  moment  with 
letters  of  business,  and  I  could  hardly  get  a  word 
or  a  look  from  the  young  lady — nothing  hke  a 
civil  answer — she  screwed  up  her  mouth,  and 
turned  from  me  with  such  an  air!  I  did  not  see 
her  again  for  a  twelvemonth.  She  was  then  out. 
I  met  her  at  Mrs  Holford's,  and  did  not  recollect 
her.  She  came  up  to  me,  claimed  me  as  an 
acquaintance,  stared  me  out  of  countenance,  and 
talked  and  laughed  till  I  did  not  know  which  way 
to  look.  I  felt  that  I  must  be  the  jest  of  the  room 
at  the  time,  and  ^liss  Crawford,  it  is  plain,  has 
heard  the  story." 

"And  a  very  pretty  story  it  is,  and  with  more 
truth  in  it,  I  dare  say,  than  does  credit  to  Miss 
Anderson.  It  is  too  common  a  fault.  Mothers 
certainly  have  not  yet  got  quite  the  right  way  of 

[69] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

managing  their  daughters.  I  do  not  know  where 
the  error  hes.  I  do  not  pretend  to  set  people 
right,  but  I  do  see  that  they  are  often  wrong." 

"Those  who  are  showing  the  world  what 
female  manners  should  he"  said  Mr  Bertram  gal- 
lantly, "are  doing  a  great  deal  to  set  them  right." 

"The  error  is  plain  enough,"  said  the  less  cour- 
teous Edmund;  "such  girls  are  ill  brought  up. 
They  are  given  A\Tong  notions  from  the  begin- 
ning. They  are  always  acting  upon  motives  of 
vanity,  and  there  is  no  more  real  modesty  in  their 
behaviour  before  they  appear  in  public  than 
afterwards." 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Miss  Crawford,  hesi- 
tatingly. "Yes,  I  cannot  agree  with  you  there. 
It  is  certainly  the  modestest  part  of  the  business. 
It  is  much  worse  to  have  girls  not  out,  give  them- 
selves the  same  airs  and  take  the  same  liberties  as 
if  they  were,  which  I  have  seen  done.  That  is 
worse  than  anything — quite  disgusting!" 

"Yes,  that  is  very  inconvenient,  indeed,"  said 
Mr  Bertram.  "It  leads  one  astray;  one  does  not 
know  what  to  do.  The  close  bonnet  and  demure 
air  you  describe  so  well  (and  nothing  was  ever 
juster),  tell  one  what  is  expected;  but  I  got  into 
a  dreadful  scrape  last  year  from  the  want  of 
them.  I  went  do^\7i  to  Ramsgate  for  a  week 
with  a  friend  last  September,  just  after  my  return 
from  the  West  Indies.  My  friend  Sneyd — you 
[70] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

have  heard  me  speak  of  Sneyd,  Edmund — his 
father,  and  mother,  and  sisters,  were  there,  all 
new  to  me.  When  we  reached  Albion  Place, 
they  were  out;  we  went  after  them,  and  found 
them  on  the  pier :  Mrs  and  the  two  Miss  Sneyds, 
with  others  of  their  acquaintance.  I  made  my 
bow  in  form;  and  as  Mrs  Sneyd  was  surrounded 
by  men,  attached  myself  to  one  of  her  daughters, 
walked  by  her  side  all  the  way  home,  and  made 
myself  as  agreeable  as  I  could;  the  young  lady, 
perfectly  easy  in  her  manners,  and  as  ready  to 
talk  as  to  listen.  I  had  not  a  suspicion  that  I 
could  be  doing  anything  wrong.  They  looked 
just  the  same:  both  well  dressed,  with  veils  and 
parasols  like  other  girls ;  but  I  afterwards  found 
that  I  had  been  giving  all  my  attention  to  the 
youngest,  who  was  not  out,  and  had  most  ex- 
cessively offended  the  eldest.  Miss  Augusta 
ought  not  to  have  been  noticed  for  the  next  six 
months ;  and  Miss  Sneyd,  I  believe,  has  never  for- 
given me." 

"That  was  bad,  indeed.  Poor  Miss  Sneyd  I 
Though  I  have  no  younger  sister,  I  feel  for  her. 
To  be  neglected  before  one's  time  must  be  very 
vexatious;  but  it  was  entirely  the  mother's  fault. 
Miss  Augusta  should  have  been  with  her  gov- 
erness. Such  half  and  half  doings  never  prosper. 
But  now  I  must  be  satisfied  about  Miss  Price. 
Does  she  go  to  balls?  Does  she  dine  out  every- 
where, as  well  as  at  my  sister's?" 

[71] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"No,"  replied  Edmund ;  "I  do  not  think  she  has 
ever  been  to  a  ball.  My  mother  seldom  goes  into 
company  herself,  and  dines  nowhere  but  with 
Mrs  Grant,  and  Fanny  stays  at  home  with  her'' 

"Oh!  then  the  point  is  clear.  Miss  Price  is  not 
out." 


CHAPTER  VI 

MR  BERTRAM  set  off  for ,  and  Miss 
Crawford  was  prepared  to  find  a  great 
chasm  in  their  society,  and  to  miss  him 
decidedly  in  the  meetings  which  were  now  becom- 
ing almost  daily  between  the  families;  and  on 
their  all  dining  together  at  the  Park  soon  after 
his  going,  she  retook  her  chosen  place  near  the 
bottom  of  the  table,  fully  expecting  to  feel  a 
most  melancholy  difference  in  the  change  of  mas- 
ters. It  would  be  a  very  flat  business,  she  was 
sure.  In  comparison  with  his  brother,  Edmund 
would  have  nothing  to  say.  The  soup  would  be 
sent  round  in  a  most  spiritless  manner,  wine 
drank  without  any  smiles  or  agreeable  trifling, 
and  the  venison  cut  up  without  supplying  one 
pleasant  anecdote  of  any  former  haunch,  or  a 
single  entertaining  story,  about  "my  friend  such 
a  one."  She  must  try  to  find  amusement  in  what 
[72] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

was  passing  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  and  in 
observing  Mr  Rushworth,  who  was  now  making 
his  appearance  at  Mansfield  for  the  first  time 
since  the  Crawfords'  arrival.  He  had  been  visit- 
ing a  friend  in  the  neighbouring  county,  and  that 
friend  having  recently  had  his  grounds  laid  out 
by  an  improver,  Mr  Rushworth  was  returned 
with  his  head  full  of  the  subject,  and  very  eager 
to  be  improving  his  own  place  in  the  same  way; 
and  though  not  saying  much  to  the  purpose, 
could  talk  of  nothing  else.  The  subject  had  been 
already  handled  in  the  drawing-room;  it  was 
revived  in  the  dining-parlour.  Miss  Bertram's 
attention  and  opinion  was  evidently  his  chief  aim; 
and  though  her  deportment  showed  rather  con- 
scious superiority  than  any  solicitude  to  oblige 
him,  the  mention  of  Sotherton  Court,  and  the 
ideas  attached  to  it,  gave  her  a  feeling  of  com- 
placency, which  prevented  her  from  being  very 
ungracious. 

"I  wish  you  could  see  Compton,"  said  he,  "it  is 
the  most  complete  thing !  I  never  saw  a  place  so 
altered  in  my  Hfe.  I  told  Smith  I  did  not  know 
where  I  was.  The  approach,  now,  is  one  of  the 
finest  things  in  the  country :  you  see  the  house  in 
the  most  surprising  manner.  I  declare,  when  I 
got  back  to  Sotherton  yesterday,  it  looked  like  a 
prison — quite  a  dismal  old  prison." 

"Oh,  for  shame!"  cried  Mrs  Norris.  "A  prison, 

[73] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

indeed?  Sotherton  Court  is  the  noblest  old  place 
in  the  world." 

"It  wants  improvement,  ma'am,  beyond  any- 
thing. I  never  saw  a  place  that  wanted  so  much 
improvement  in  my  life :  and  it  is  so  forlorn,  that 
I  do  not  know  what  can  be  done  with  it." 

"No  wonder  that  Mr  Rushworth  should  think 
so  at  present,"  said  Mrs  Grant  to  Mrs  Norris, 
with  a  smile;  "but  depend  upon  it,  Sotherton  will 
have  every  improvement  in  time  which  his  heart 
can  desire." 

"I  must  try  to  do  something  with  it,"  said  Mr 
Rushworth,  "but  I  do  not  know  what.  I  hope  I 
shall  have  some  good  friend  to  help  me." 

"Your  best  friend  upon  such  an  occasion,"  said 
Miss  Bertram  calmly,  "would  be  Mr  Repton,  I 
imagine." 

"That  is  what  I  was  thinking  of.  As  he  has 
done  so  well  by  Smith,  I  think  I  had  better  have 
him  at  once.    His  terms  are  five  guineas  a  day." 

"Well,  and  if  they  were  ten''  cried  Mrs  Nor- 
ris, "I  am  sure  you  need  not  regard  it.  The  ex- 
pense need  not  be  any  impediment.  If  I  were 
you,  I  should  not  think  of  the  expense.  I  would 
have  everything  done  in  the  best  style,  and  made 
as  nice  as  possible.  Such  a  place  as  Sotherton 
Court  deserves  everything  that  taste  and  money 
can  do.  You  have  space  to  work  upon  there,  and 
grounds  that  will  well  reward  you.  For  my  own 
[74] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

part,  if  I  had  anything  within  the  fiftieth  part 
of  the  size  of  Sotherton,  I  should  be  always  plant- 
ing and  improving,  for,  naturally,  I  am  excess- 
ively fond  of  it.  It  would  be  too  ridiculous  for 
me  to  attempt  anything  where  I  am  now,  with 
my  little  half  acre.  It  w^ould  be  quite  a  burlesque. 
But  if  I  had  more  room,  I  should  take  a  prodigi- 
ous delight  in  improving  and  planting.  We  did 
a  vast  deal  in  that  way  at  the  Parsonage :  we  made 
it  quite  a  different  place  from  what  it  was  when 
we  first  had  it.  You  young  ones  do  not  remem- 
ber much  about  it,  perhaps;  but  if  dear  Sir 
Thomas  were  here,  he  could  tell  you  what  im- 
provements we  made:  and  a  great  deal  more 
would  have  been  done,  but  for  poor  Mr  N orris's 
sad  state  of  health.  He  could  hardly  ever  get 
out,  poor  man,  to  enjoy  anything,  and  that  dis- 
heartened me  from  doing  several  things  that  Sir 
Thomas  and  I  used  to  talk  of.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  that,  we  should  have  carried  on  the  garden 
wall,  and  made  the  plantation  to  shut  out  the 
church-yard,  just  as  Dr  Grant  has  done.  We 
were  always  doing  something  as  it  was.  It  was 
only  the  spring  twelvemonth  before  Mr  Norris's 
death,  that  we  put  in  the  apricot  against  the  stable 
wall,  which  is  now  grown  such  a  noble  tree,  and 
getting  to  such  perfection,  sir,"  addressing  her- 
self then  to  Dr  Grant. 

"The    tree    thrives    well,    beyond    a    doubt, 

[75] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

madam,"  replied  Dr  Grant.  "The  soil  is  good; 
and  I  never  pass  it  without  regretting  that  the 
fruit  should  be  so  little  worth  the  trouble  of  gath- 
ering." 

"Sir,  it  is  a  Moor-park,  we  bought  it  as  a  Moor- 
park,  and  it  cost  us — that  is,  it  was  a  present  from 
Sir  Thomas,  but  I  saw  the  bill — and  I  know  it 
cost  seven  shillings,  and  was  charged  as  a  Moor- 
park." 

"You  were  imposed  on,  ma'am,"  replied  Dr 
Grant:  "these  potatoes  have  as  much  the  flavour 
of  a  Moor-park  apricot  as  the  fruit  from  that 
tree.    It  is  an  insipid  fruit  at  the  best ;  but  a  good 

apricot  is  eatable,  which  none  from  my  garden 

J, 
are. 

"The  truth  is,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs  Grant,  pre- 
tending to  whisper  across  the  table  to  Mrs  Nor- 
ris,  "that  Dr  Grant  hardly  knows  what  the  natu- 
ral taste  of  our  apricot  is:  he  is  scarcely  ever  in- 
dulged with  one,  for  it  is  so  valuable  a  fruit,  with 
a  little  assistance,  and  ours  is  such  a  remarkably 
large,  fair  sort,  that  what  with  early  tarts  and 
preserves,  my  cook  contrives  to  get  them  all." 

Mrs  Norris,  who  had  begun  to  redden,  was 
appeased;  and,  for  a  little  while,  other  subjects 
took  place  of  the  improvements  of  Sotherton. 
Dr  Grant  and  Mrs  Norris  were  seldom  good 
friends;  their  acquaintance  had  begun  In  dilapi- 
dations, and  their  habits  were  totally  dissimilar. 
[76] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

After  a  short  interruption,  Mr  Rushworth 
began  again.  "Smith's  place  is  the  admiration  of 
all  the  country ;  and  it  was  a  mere  nothing  before 
Repton  took  it  in  hand.  I  think  I  shall  have 
Repton." 

"Mr  Rushworth,"  said  Lady  Bertram,  "if  I 
were  you,  I  would  have  a  very  pretty  shrubbery. 
One  likes  to  get  out  into  a  shrubbery  in  fine 
weather." 

Mr  Rushworth  was  eager  to  assure  her  lady- 
ship of  his  acquiescence,  and  tried  to  make  out 
something  complimentary;  but,  between  his  sub- 
mission to  her  taste,  and  his  having  always  in- 
tended the  same  himself,  with  the  superadded  ob- 
jects of  professing  attention  to  the  comfort  of 
ladies  in  general,  and  of  insinuating  that  there 
was  one  only  whom  he  was  anxious  to  please,  he 
grew  puzzled,  and  Edmund  was  glad  to  put  an 
end  to  his  speech  by  a  proposal  of  wine.  Mr 
Rushworth,  however,  though  not  usually  a  great 
talker,  had  still  more  to  say  on  the  subject  next 
his  heart.  "Smith  has  not  much  above  a  hundred 
acres  altogether,  in  his  grounds,  which  is  little 
enough,  and  makes  it  more  surprising  that  the 
place  can  have  been  so  improved.  Now,  at  Soth- 
erton,  we  have  a  good  seven  hundred,  without 
reckoning  the  water  meadows;  so  that  I  think, 
if  so  much  could  be  done  at  Compton,  we  need 
not  despair.    There  have  been  two  or  three  fine 

[77] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

old  trees  cut  down,  that  grew  too  near  the  house, 
and  it  opens  the  prospect  amazingly,  which  makes 
me  think  that  Repton,  or  anybody  of  that  sort, 
would  certainly  have  the  avenue  at  Sotherton 
down ;  the  avenue  that  leads  from  the  west  front 
to  the  top  of  the  hill,  you  know,"  turning  to  Miss 
Bertram  particularly  as  he  spoke.  But  Miss 
Bertram  thought  it  most  becoming  to  reply — 

"The  avenue!  Oh!  I  do  not  recollect  it.  I 
really  know  very  little  of  Sotherton." 

Fanny,  who  was  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  | 

Edmund,  exactly  opposite  Miss  Crawford,  and 
who  had  been  attentively  listening,  now  looked  at 
him,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice — 

"Cut  down  an  avenue!  What  a  pity!  Does 
it  not  make  you  think  of  Cowper?  'Ye  fallen 
avenues,  once  more  I  mourn  your  fate  un- 
merited.' " 

He  smiled  as  he  answered,  "I  am  afraid  the 
avenue  stands  a  bad  chance,  Fanny." 

"I  should  like  to  see  Sotherton  before  it  is  cut 
down,  to  see  the  place  as  it  is  now,  in  its  old  state ; 
but  I  do  not  suppose  I  shall." 

"Have  you  never  been  there?  No,  you  never 
can;  and,  unluckily,  it  is  out  of  distance  for  a 
ride.    I  wish  we  could  contrive  it." 

"Oh!  it  does  not  signify.  Whenever  I  do  see 
it,  you  will  tell  me  how  it  has  been  altered." 

"I  collect,"  said  Miss  Crawford,  "that  Sother- 
[78] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

ton  is  an  old  place,  and  a  place  of  some  grandeur. 
In  any  particular  style  of  building?" 

"The  house  was  built  in  Elizabeth's  time,  and 
is  a  large,  regular,  brick  building ;  heavy,  but  re- 
spectable looking,  and  has  many  good  rooms.  It 
is  ill  placed.  It  stands  in  one  of  the  lowest  spots 
of  the  park;  in  that  respect,  unfavourable  for  im- 
provement. But  the  woods  are  fine,  and  there  is 
a  stream,  which,  I  dare  say,  might  be  made  a 
good  deal  of.  ]\Ir  Rush  worth  is  quite  right,  I 
think,  in  meaning  to  give  it  a  modern  dress,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  that  it  \\dll  be  all  done  extremely 
well." 

Miss  Crawford  listened  with  submission,  and 
said  to  herself,  "He  is  a  well-bred  man;  he  makes 
the  best  of  it." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  influence  Mr  Rushworth,"  he 
continued;  "but,  had  I  a  place  to  new- fashion,  I 
should  not  put  myself  into  the  hands  of  an  im- 
prover. I  would  rather  have  an  inferior  degree 
of  beauty,  of  my  own  choice,  and  acquired  pro- 
gressively. I  would  rather  abide  by  my  own 
blunders,  than  by  his." 

"You  would  know  what  you  were  about,  of 
course;  but  that  would  not  suit  me.  I  have  no 
eye  or  ingenuity  for  such  matters,  but  as  they 
are  before  me;  and  had  I  a  place  of  my  own  in 
the  country,  I  should  be  most  thankful  to  any 
Mr  Repton  who  would  undertake  it,  and  give  me 

[79] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

as  much  beauty  as  he  could  for  my  money ;  and  I 
should  never  look  at  it  till  it  was  complete." 

"It  would  be  delightful  to  me  to  see  the 
progress  of  it  all,"  said  Fanny. 

"Ay,  you  have  been  brought  up  to  it.  It  was 
no  part  of  my  education ;  and  the  only  dose  I  ever 
had,  being  administered  by  not  the  first  favour- 
ite in  the  world,  has  made  me  consider  improve- 
ments in  hand  as  the  greatest  of  nuisances. 
Three  years  ago,  the  Admiral,  my  honoured 
uncle,  bought  a  cottage  at  Twickenham  for  us 
all  to  spend  our  summers  in ;  and  my  aunt  and  I 
went  down  to  it  quite  in  raptures;  but  it  being 
excessively  pretty,  it  was  soon  found  necessary 
to  be  improved,  and  for  three  months  we  were  all 
dirt  and  confusion,  without  a  gravel  walk  to  step 
on,  or  a  bench  fit  for  use.  I  would  have  every- 
thing as  complete  as  possible  in  the  country, 
shrubberies  and  flower-gardens,  and  rustic  seats 
innumerable :  but  it  must  all  be  done  without  my 
care.    Henry  is  different,  he  loves  to  be  doing." 

Edmund  was  sorry  to  hear  Miss  Crawford, 
whom  he  was  much  disposed  to  admire,  speak  so 
freely  of  her  uncle.  It  did  not  suit  his  sense  of 
propriety,  and  he  was  silenced,  till  induced  by 
further  smiles  and  liveliness,  to  put  the  matter  by 
for  the  present. 

"Mr  Bertram,"  said  she,  "I  have  tidings  of  my 
harp  at  last.  I  am  assured  that  it  is  safe  at 
[80] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Northampton;  and  there  it  has  probably  been 
these  ten  days,  in  spite  of  the  solemn  assurances 
we  have  so  often  received  to  the  contrary." 
Edmund  expressed  his  pleasure  and  surprise. 
"The  truth  is,  that  our  inquiries  were  too  direct; 
we  sent  a  servant,  we  went  ourselves :  this  will  not 
do  seventy  miles  from  London ;  but  this  morning 
we  heard  of  it  in  the  right  way.  It  was  seen  by 
some  farmer,  and  he  told  the  miller,  and  the 
miller  told  the  butcher,  and  the  butcher's  son-in- 
law  left  word  at  the  shop." 

"I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  heard  of  it,  by 
whatever  means,  and  hope  there  will  be  no  farther 
delay." 

"I  am  to  have  it  to-morrow;  but,  how  do  you 
think  it  is  to  be  conveyed?  Not  by  a  waggon  or 
cart:  oh  no!  nothing  of  that  kind  could  be  hired 
in  the  village.  I  might  as  well  have  asked  for 
porters  and  a  hand-barrow." 

"You  would  find  it  difficult,  I  dare  say,  just 
now,  in  the  middle  of  a  very  late  hay  harvest,  to 
hire  a  horse  and  cart." 

"I  was  astonished  to  find  what  a  piece  of  work 
was  made  of  it !  To  want  a  horse  and  cart  in  the 
country  seemed  impossible,  so  I  told  my  maid  to 
speak  for  one  directly;  and  as  I  cannot  look  out 
of  my  dressing-closet  without  seeing  one  farm- 
yard, nor  walk  in  the  shrubbery  without  passing 
another,  I  thought  it  would  be  only  ask  and  have, 

[81] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

and  was  rather  grieved  that  I  could  not  give  the 
advantage  to  all.  Guess  my  surprise,  when  I 
found  that  I  had  been  asking  the  most  unreason- 
able, most  impossible  thing  in  the  world;  had 
offended  all  the  farmers,  all  the  labourers,  all  the 
hay  in  the  parish!  As  for  Dr  Grant's  bailiff,  I 
believe  I  had  better  keep  out  of  his  way ;  and  my 
brother-in-law  himself,  who  is  all  kindness  in  gen- 
eral, looked  rather  black  upon  me,  when  he  found 
what  I  had  been  at." 

"You  could  not  be  expected  to  have  thought 
on  the  subject  before;  but  when  you  do  think  of 
it,  you  must  see  the  importance  of  getting  in  the 
grass.  The  hire  of  a  cart  at  any  time  might  not 
be  so  easy  as  you  suppose;  our  farmers  are  not 
in  the  habit  of  letting  them  out:  but,  in  harvest, 
it  must  be  quite  out  of  their  power  to  spare  a 
horse." 

"I  shall  understand  all  your  ways  in  time;  but, 
coming  down  with  the  true  London  maxim,  that 
everything  is  to  be  got  with  money,  I  was  a  little 
embarrassed  at  first  by  the  sturdy  independence 
of  your  country  customs.  However,  I  am  to 
have  my  harp  fetched  to-morrow.  Henry,  who 
is  good  nature  itself,  has  offered  to  fetch  it  in 
his  barouche.  Will  it  not  be  honourably  con- 
veyed?" 

Edmund  spoke  of  the  harp  as  his  favourite  in- 
strument, and  hoped  to  be  soon  allowed  to  hear 
[82] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

her.  Fanny  had  never  heard  the  harp  at  all,  and 
wished  for  it  very  much. 

"I  shall  be  most  happy  to  play  to  you  both," 
said  Miss  Crawford;  "at  least  as  long  as  you  can 
like  to  listen :  probably  much  longer,  for  I  dearly 
love  music  myself,  and  where  the  natural  taste  is 
equal  the  player  must  always  be  best  off,  for  she 
is  gratified  in  more  ways  than  one.  Now,  Mr 
Bertram,  if  you  ^Tite  to  your  brother,  I  entreat 
you  to  tell  him  that  my  harp  is  come ;  he  heard  so 
much  of  my  misery  about  it.  And  you  may  say, 
if  you  please,  that  I  shall  prepare  my  most 
plaintive  airs  against  his  return,  in  compassion  to 
his  feelings,  as  I  know  his  horse  will  lose." 

"If  I  write,  I  will  say  whatever  you  wish  me; 
but  I  do  not,  at  present,  foresee  any  occasion  for 
writing." 

"No,  I  dare  say,  nor  if  he  were  to  be  gone  a 
twelvemonth,  would  you  ever  write  to  him,  nor  he 
to  you,  if  it  could  be  helped.  The  occasion  would 
never  be  foreseen.  What  strange  creatures 
brothers  are !  You  would  not  write  to  each  other 
but  upon  the  most  urgent  necessity  in  the  world ; 
and  when  obliged  to  take  up  the  pen  to  say  that 
such  a  horse  is  ill,  or  such  a  relation  dead,  it  is 
done  in  the  fewest  possible  words.  You  have  but 
one  style  among  you.  I  know  it  perfectly. 
Henry,  who  is  in  every  respect  exactly  what  a 
brother  should  be,  who  loves  me,  consults  me, 

[83] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

confides  in  me,  and  will  talk  to  me  by  the  hour 
together,  has  never  yet  turned  the  page  in  a 
letter;  and  very  often  it  is  nothing  more  than — 
'Dear  Mary,  I  am  just  arrived.  Bath  seems  full, 
and  everything  as  usual.  Yours  sincerely.'  That 
is  the  true  manly  style;  that  is  a  complete 
brother's  letter." 

"When  they  are  at  a  distance  from  all  their 
family,"  said  Fanny,  colouring  for  William's 
sake,  "they  can  write  long  letters." 

"Miss  Price  has  a  brother  at  sea,"  said 
Edmund,  "whose  excellence  as  a  correspondent 
makes  her  think  you  too  severe  upon  us." 

"At  sea,  has  she?  In  the  king's  service,  of 
course?" 

Fanny  would  rather  have  had  Edmund  tell  the 
story,  but  his  determined  silence  obliged  her  to 
relate  her  brother's  situation;  her  voice  was  ani- 
mated in  speaking  of  his  profession,  and  the 
foreign  stations  he  had  been  on ;  but  she  could  not 
mention  the  number  of  years  that  he  had  been 
absent  without  tears  in  her  eyes.  Miss  Crawford 
civilly  wished  him  an  early  promotion. 

"Do  you  know  anything  of  my  cousin's  cap- 
tain?" said  Edmund;  "Captain  Marshall?  You 
have  a  large  acquaintance  in  the  navy,  I  con- 
clude?" 

"Among  admirals,  large  enough;  but,"  with 
an  air  of  grandeur,  "we  know  very  little  of  the 
[84] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

inferior  ranks.  Post-captains  may  be  very  good 
sort  of  men,  but  they  do  not  belong  to  us.  Of 
various  admirals  I  could  tell  you  a  great  deal ;  of 
them  and  their  flags,  and  the  gradation  of  their 
pay,  and  their  bickerings  and  jealousies.  But,  in 
general,  I  can  assure  you  that  they  are  all  passed 
over,  and  all  very  ill  used.  Certainly,  my  home 
at  my  uncle's  brought  me  acquainted  with  a  circle 
of  admirals.  Of  Rears  and  Vices,  I  sav^^  enough. 
Now  do  not  be  suspecting  me  of  a  pun,  I  entreat." 

Edmund  again  felt  grave,  and  only  replied, 
"It  is  a  noble  profession." 

"Yes,  the  profession  is  well  enough  under  two 
circumstances;  if  it  make  the  fortune,  and  there 
be  discretion  in  spending  it ;  but,  in  short,  it  is  not 
a  favourite  profession  of  mine.  It  has  never 
worn  an  amiable  form  to  me.'' 

Edmund  reverted  to  the  harp,  and  was  again 
very  happy  in  the  prospect  of  hearing  her  play. 

The  subject  of  improving  grounds,  meanwhile, 
was  still  under  consideration  among  the  others; 
and  Mrs  Grant  could  not  help  addressing  her 
brother,  though  it  was  calling  his  attention  from 
Miss  Julia  Bertram. 

"My  dear  Henry,  have  you  nothing  to  say? 
You  have  been  an  improver  yourself,  and  from 
what  I  hear  of  Everingham,  it  may  vie  with  any 
place  in  England.  Its  natural  beauties,  I  am 
sure,  are  great.     Everingham,  as  it  used  to  be, 

[85] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

was  perfect  in  my  estimation ;  such  a  happy  fall 
of  ground,  and  such  timber!  What  would  I  not 
give  to  see  it  again." 

"Nothing  could  be  so  gratifying  to  me  as  to 
hear  your  opinion  of  it,"  was  his  answer;  "but  I 
fear  there  would  be  some  disappointment:  you 
would  not  find  it  equal  to  your  present  ideas.  In 
extent,  it  is  a  mere  nothing;  you  would  be  sur- 
prised at  its  insignificance;  and,  as  for  improve- 
ment, there  was  very  little  for  me  to  do — too 
little;  I  should  like  to  have  been  busy  much 
longer." 

"You  are  fond  of  the  sort  of  thing?"  said  Julia. 

"Excessively;  but  what  with  the  natural  ad- 
vantages of  the  ground,  which  pointed  out,  even 
to  a  very  young  eye,  what  little  remained  to  be 
done,  and  my  own  consequent  resolutions,  I  had 
not  been  of  age  three  months  before  Everingham 
was  all  that  it  is  now.  INIy  plan  was  laid  at  West- 
minster, a  little  altered,  perhaps,  at  Cambridge, 
and  at  one-and-twenty  executed.  I  am  inclined 
to  envy  Mr  Rushworth  for  having  so  much  hap- 
piness yet  before  him.  I  have  been  a  devourer  of 
my  own." 

"Those  who  see  quickly,  will  resolve  quickly, 
and  act  quickly,"  said  Julia.  "You  can  never 
want  employment.  Instead  of  envj^ing  INIr 
Rushworth,  you  should  assist  him  with  your 
opinion." 
r86] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Mrs  Grant,  hearing  the  latter  part  of  this 
speech,  enforced  it  warmly;  persuaded  that  no 
judgment  could  be  equal  to  her  brother's;  and  as 
Miss  Bertram  caught  at  the  idea  likewise,  and 
gave  it  her  full  support,  declaring  that,  in  her 
opinion,  it  was  infinitely  better  to  consult  with 
friends  and  disinterested  advisers,  than  imme- 
diately to  throw  the  business  into  the  hands  of  a 
professional  man,  Mr  Rushworth  was  very  ready 
to  request  the  favour  of  Mr  Crawford's  assist- 
ance; and  Mr  Crawford,  after  properly  depre- 
ciating his  own  abilities,  was  quite  at  his  service  in 
any  way  that  could  be  useful.  Mr  Rushworth 
then  began  to  propose  Mr  Crawford's  doing  him 
the  honour  of  coming  over  to  Sotherton,  and  tak- 
ing a  bed  there;  when  Mrs  Norris,  as  if  reading 
in  her  two  nieces'  minds  their  little  approbation 
of  a  plan  which  was  to  take  Crawford  away, 
interposed  with  an  amendment. 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  of  Mr  Crawford's  will- 
ingness; but  why  should  not  more  of  us  go? 
Why  should  not  we  make  a  little  party?  Here 
are  many  that  would  be  interested  in  your  im- 
provements, my  dear  Mr  Rushworth,  and  that 
would  like  to  hear  Mr  Crawford's  opinion  on  the 
spot,  and  that  might  be  of  some  small  use  to  you 
with  their  opinions ;  and  for  my  own  part,  I  have 
been  long  wishing  to  wait  upon  your  good  mother 
again;  nothing  but  having  no  horses  of  my  own 

[87] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

could  have  made  me  so  remiss;  but  now  I  could 
go  and  sit  a  few  hours  with  Mrs  Rushworth, 
while  the  rest  of  you  walked  about  and  settled 
things,  and  then  we  could  all  return  to  a  late  din- 
ner here,  or  dine  at  Sotherton,  just  as  might  be 
most  agreeable  to  your  mother,  and  have  a  pleas- 
ant drive  home  by  moonlight.  I  dare  say  Mr 
Crawford  would  take  my  two  nieces  and  me  in 
his  barouche,  and  Edmund  can  go  on  horseback, 
you  know,  sister,  and  Fanny  will  stay  at  home 
with  you." 

Lady  Bertram  made  no  objection;  and  every 
one  concerned  in  the  going  was  forward  in  ex- 
pressing their  ready  concurrence,  excepting 
Edmund,  who  heard  it  all  and  said  nothing. 


W 


CHAPTER  VII 

""^"^  "^ELL,  Fanny,  and  how  do  you  like 
Miss  Crawford  now?"  said  Edmund 
the  next  day,  after  thinking  some 

time  on  the  subject  himself.    "How  did  you  like 

her  yesterday  ?" 

"Very  well — very  much.     I  like  to  hear  her 

talk.    She  entertains  me ;  and  she  is  so  extremely 

prettj%  that  I  have  great  pleasure  in  looking  at 

her."' 

[88] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

"It  is  her  countenance  that  is  so  attractive. 
She  has  a  wonderful  play  of  feature!  But  was 
there  nothing  in  her  conversation  that  struck  you, 
Fanny,  as  not  quite  right?" 

"Oh,  yes!  she  ought  not  to  have  spoken  of  her 
uncle  as  she  did.  I  was  quite  astonished.  An 
uncle  with  whom  she  has  been  living  so  many 
years,  and  who,  whatever  his  faults  may  be,  is  so 
very  fond  of  her  brother,  treating  him,  they  say, 
quite  like  a  son.    I  could  not  have  believed  it!" 

"I  thought  you  would  be  struck.  It  was  very 
"WTong;  very  indecorous." 

"And  very  ungrateful,  I  think." 

"Ungrateful  is  a  strong  word.  I  do  not  know 
that  her  uncle  has  any  claim  to  her  gratitude;  his 
wife  certainly  had;  and  it  is  the  warmth  of  her 
respect  for  her  aunt's  memory  which  misleads  her 
here.  She  is  awkwardly  circumstanced.  With 
such  warm  feelings  and  lively  spirits  it  must  be 
difficult  to  do  justice  to  her  affection  for  Mrs 
Crawford,  without  throwing  a  shade  on  the 
Admiral.  I  do  not  pretend  to  know  which  was 
most  to  blame  in  their  disagreements,  though  the 
Admiral's  present  conduct  might  incline  one  to 
the  side  of  his  wife;  but  it  is  natural  and  amiable 
that  Miss  Crawford  should  acquit  her  aunt  en- 
tirely. I  do  not  censure  her  opinions:  but  there 
certainly  is  impropriety  in  making  them  public." 

"Do  not  you  think,"  said  Fanny,  after  a  little 

[89] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

consideration,  "that  this  impropriety  is  a  reflec- 
tion itself  upon  Mrs  Crawford,  as  her  niece  has 
been  entirely  brought  up  by  her?  She  cannot 
have  given  her  right  notions  of  what  was  due  to 
the  Admiral." 

"That  is  a  fair  remark.  Yes,  we  must  suppose 
the  faults  of  the  niece  to  have  been  those  of  the 
aunt;  and  it  makes  one  more  sensible  of  the  dis- 
advantages she  has  been  under.  But  I  think  her 
present  home  must  do  her  good.  INIrs  Grant's 
manners  are  just  what  they  ought  to  be.  She 
speaks  of  her  brother  with  a  very  pleasing  aiFec- 
tion." 

"Yes,  except  as  to  his  \\Titing  her  such  short 
letters.  She  made  me  almost  laugh ;  but  I  cannot 
rate  so  very  highly  the  love  or  good  nature  of  a 
brother,  who  will  not  give  himself  the  trouble  of 
writing  anji;hing  w^orth  reading  to  his  sisters, 
when  they  are  separated.  I  am  sure  William 
would  never  have  used  me  so,  under  any  circum- 
stances. And  what  right  had  she  to  suppose  that 
you  would  not  write  long  letters  when  you  were 
absent?" 

"The  right  of  a  lively  mind,  Fanny,  seizing 
whatever  may  contribute  to  its  o^vn  amusement 
or  that  of  others;  perfectly  allowable,  when  un- 
tinctured  by  ill  humour  or  roughness;  and  there 
is  not  a  shadow  of  either  in  the  countenance  or 
manner  of  Miss  Crawford:  nothing  sharp,  or 
[90] 


r  'I' 


The  harp  arrived,  and,  she  played  with  the  greatest, oblig- 
'"■-tngness"  -  - — ~ — __. ^__ . _ 


ATA^^Sl^TT'T  D   PARK 

"'^priety  is  a  reflec- 

;,  as  her  niece  has 

bt  ought  up  by  her?     She  cannot 

hi  ght  notions  of  what  was  due  to 

'  f^oark.    Yes,  we  must  suppose 

•e  to  have  been  those  of  the 

ne  more  sensible  of  the  dis- 

imder.    But  I  think  her 

.«'  lier  good.     Mrs  Grant's 

fiat  they  ought  to  be.     She 

sj  brother  with  a  very  plea^sing  aiFec- 

;'s  to  his  V  'ler  such  short 

'  me  almost  — ^..;  but  I  cannot 

ra  ly  the  love  or  good  nature  of  a 

brother,  who  m^U  not  give  himself  the  trouble  of 

writing  anything  worth  reading  to  his  sisters, 

.>i  ...     vi.  ...  g^j.^  t,,...,. ....4...^^     J  jj^  jj^^^g  William 

(^r  hav«  ne  so,  under  any  circum- 

And  what  right  had  she  to  suppose  that 
i/ou  would  not  write  long  letters  when  you  were 
absent?" 

"The  right  of  a  lively  mind,  Fanny,  seizing 
whatever  may  contribute  to  its  own  amusement 
or  that  of  others;  perfectly  allowable,  when  ui 
tinctured  by  ill  humour  or  roughness;  and  tho 

i«iWoti'^aJ'?>h-'^'' ''■■''■' '•■•^' '■■■-'-'    -untmAmi'et  or 

manner  r  '*?"^iarp.  or 

[90] 


I 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

loud,  or  coarse.  She  is  perfectly  feminine,  except 
in  the  instances  we  have  been  speaking  of.  There 
she  cannot  be  justified.  I  am  glad  you  saw  it  all 
as  I  did." 

Having  formed  her  mind  and  gained  her  affec- 
tions, he  had  a  good  chance  of  her  thinking  like 
him;  though  at  this  period,  and  on  this  subject, 
there  began  now  to  be  some  danger  of  dissimi- 
larity, for  he  was  in  a  line  of  admiration  of  Miss 
Crawford,  which  might  lead  him  where  Fanny 
could  not  follow.  JNIiss  Crawford's  attractions 
did  not  lessen.  The  harp  arrived,  and  rather 
added  to  her  beauty,  wit,  and  good  humour;  for 
she  played  with  the  greatest  obligingness,  with  an 
expression  and  taste  which  were  peculiarly  be- 
coming, and  there  was  something  clever  to  be  said 
at  the  close  of  every  air.  Edmund  was  at  the 
Parsonage  every  day,  to  be  indulged  with  his 
favourite  instrument;  one  morning  secured  an 
invitation  for  the  next ;  for  the  lady  could  not  be 
unwilling  to  have  a  listener,  and  everything  was 
soon  in  a  fair  train. 

A  j^oung  M  Oman,  pretty,  lively,  with  a  harp  as 
elegant  as  herself,  and  both  placed  near  a  win- 
dow, cut  down  to  the  ground,  and  opening  on  a 
little  lawTi,  surrounded  by  shrubs  in  the  ricli  foli- 
age of  summer,  was  enough  to  catch  any  man's 
heart.  The  season,  the  scene,  the  air,  were  all 
favourable  to  tenderness  and  sentiment.     Mrs 

^.  [.1] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Grant  and  her  tambour  frame  were  not  without 
their  use :  it  was  all  in  harmony ;  and  as  everything 
will  turn  to  account  when  love  is  once  set  going, 
even  the  sandwich  tray,  and  Dr  Grant  doing  the 
honours  of  it,  were  worth  looking  at.  Without 
studying  the  business,  however,  or  knowing  what 
he  was  about,  Edmund  was  beginning,  at  the  end 
of  a  week  of  such  intercourse,  to  be  a  good  deal 
in  love;  and  to  the  credit  of  the  lady  it  may  be 
added,  that,  without  his  being  a  man  of  the  world 
or  an  elder  brother,  without  any  of  the  arts  of 
flattery  or  the  gaieties  of  small  talk,  he  began  to 
be  agreeable  to  her.  She  felt  it  to  be  so,  though 
she  had  not  foreseen,  and  could  hardly  under- 
stand 't ;  for  he  was  not  pleasant  by  any  common 
rule;  he  talked  no  nonsense;  he  paid  no  compli- 
ments; his  opinions  were  unbending,  his  atten- 
tions tranquil  and  simple.  There  was  a  charm, 
perhaps,  in  his  sincerity,  his  steadiness,  his  integ- 
rity, which  Miss  Crawford  might  be  equal  to  feel, 
though  not  equal  to  discuss  with  herself.  She  did 
not  think  very  much  about  it,  however :  he  pleased 
her  for  the  present:  she  liked  to  have  him  near 
her;  it  was  enough. 

Fanny  could  not  wonder  that  Edmund  was  at 
the  Parsonage  every  morning;  she  would  gladly 
have  been  there  too,  might  she  have  gone  in  unin- 
vited and  unnoticed,  to  hear  the  harp;  neither 
could  she  wonder  that,  when  the  evening  stroll 
[92] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

*vas  over,  and  the  two  families  parted  again,  he 
should  think  it  right  to  attend  JNIrs  Grant  and  her 
sister  to  their  home,  while  Mr  Crawford  was  de- 
voted to  the  ladies  of  the  Park;  but  she  thought 
it  a  very  bad  exchange;  and  if  Edmund  were  not 
there  to  mix  the  wine  and  water  for  her,  would 
rather  go  without  it  than  not.  She  was  a  little 
surprised  that  he  could  spend  so  many  hours  with 
Miss  Crawford,  and  not  see  more  of  the  sort  of 
fault  which  he  had  already  observed,  and  of  which 
she  was  almost  always  reminded  by  a  something 
of  the  same  nature  whenever  she  was  in  her  com- 
pany; but  so  it  was.  Edmund  was  fond  of 
speaking  to  her  of  Miss  Crawford,  but  he  seemed 
to  think  it  enough  that  the  Admiral  had ,  since 
been  spared;  and  she  scrupled  to  point  out  her 
own  remarks  to  him,  lest  it  should  appear  like 
ill  nature.  The  first  actual  pain  which  Miss 
Crawford  occasioned  her  was  the  consequence  of 
an  inclination  to  learn  to  ride,  which  the  former 
caught  soon  after  her  being  settled  at  Mansfield, 
from  the  example  of  the  young  ladies  at  the 
Park,  and  which,  when  Edmund's  acquaintance 
with  her  increased,  led  to  his  encouraging  the 
wish,  and  the  offer  of  his  own  quiet  mare  for  the 
purpose  of  her  first  attempts,  as  the  best  fitted 
for  a  beginner,  that  either  stable  could  furnish. 
No  pain,  no  injury,  however,  was  designed  by 
him  to  his  cousin  in  this  offer :  she  was  not  to  lose 

[93] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

a  day's  exercise  by  it.  Tlie  mare  was  only  to  be 
taken  down  to  the  Parsonage  half  an  hour  before 
her  ride  were  to  begin;  and  Fanny,  on  its  being 
first  proposed,  so  far  from  feeling  slighted,  was 
almost  overpowered  with  gratitude  that  he  should 
be  asking  her  leave  for  it. 

Miss  Crawford  made  her  first  essay  with  great 
credit  to  herself,  and  no  inconvenience  to  Fanny. 
Edmund,  who  had  taken  down  the  mare  and  pre- 
sided at  the  whole,  returned  with  it  in  excellent 
time,  before  either  Fanny  or  the  steady  old  coach- 
man, who  always  attended  her  when  she  rode 
without  her  cousins,  were  ready  to  set  forward. 
The  second  day's  trial  was  not  so  guiltless.  Miss 
Crawford's  enjoyment  of  riding  was  such,  that 
she  did  not  know  how  to  leave  off.  Active  and 
fearless,  and,  though  rather  small,  strongly  made, 
she  seemed  formed  for  a  horsewoman ;  and  to  the 
pure  genuine  pleasure  of  the  exercise,  some- 
thing was  probably  added  in  Edmund's  attend- 
ance and  instructions,  and  something  more  in  the 
conviction  of  very  much  surpassing  her  sex  in 
general  by  her  early  progress,  to  make  her  unwill- 
ing to  dismount.  Fanny  was  ready  and  waiting, 
and  Mrs  Norris  was  beginning  to  scold  her  for 
not  being  gone,  and  still  no  horse  was  announced, 
no  Edmund  appeared.  To  avoid  her  aunt,  and 
look  for  him,  she  went  out. 

The  houses,  though  scarcely  half  a  mile  apart, 
[94] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

were  not  within  sight  of  each  other;  but,  by  walk- 
ing fifty  yards  from  the  hall  door,  she  could  look 
down  the  park,  and  command  a  view  of  the  Par- 
sonage and  all  its  demesnes,  gently  rising  beyond 
the  village  road;  and  in  Dr  Grant's  meadow  she 
immediately  saw  the  group:  Edmund  and  Miss 
Crawford  both  on  horseback,  riding  side  by  side, 
Dr  and  JNIrs  Grant,  and  ]Mr  Crawford,  with  two 
or  three  grooms,  standing  about  and  looking  on. 
A  happy  party  it  appeared  to  her,  all  interested 
in  one  object:  cheerful  beyond  a  doubt,  for  the 
sound  of  merriment  ascended  even  to  her.  It  was 
a  sound  which  did  not  make  her  cheerful;  she 
wondered  that  Edmund  should  forget  her,  and 
felt  a  pang.  She  could  not  turn  her  eyes  from 
the  meadow ;  she  could  not  help  watching  all  that 
passed.  At  first  Miss  Crawford  and  her  com- 
panion made  the  circuit  of  the  field,  which  was 
not  small,  at  a  foot's  pace ;  then,  at  her  apparent 
suggestion,  they  rose  into  a  canter;  and  to 
Fanny's  timid  nature  it  was  most  astonishing  to 
see  how  well  she  sat.  After  a  few  minutes,  they 
stopped  entirely.  Edmund  was  close  to  her;  he 
was  speaking  to  her;  he  was  evidently  directing 
her  management  of  the  bridle ;  he  had  hold  of  her 
hand;  she  saw  it,  or  the  imagination  supplied 
what  the  eye  could  not  reach.  She  must  not  won- 
der at  all  this;  what  could  be  more  natural  than 
that  Edmund  should  be  making  himself  useful, 

[95] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

and  proving  his  good  nature  by  any  one?  She 
could  not  but  think,  indeed,  that  Mr  Crawford 
might  as  well  have  saved  him  the  trouble ;  that  it 
would  have  been  particularly  proper  and  becom- 
ing in  a  brother  to  have  done  it  himself;  but  Mr 
Crawford,  with  all  his  boasted  good-nature,  and 
all  his  coachmanship,  probably  knew  nothing  of 
the  matter,  and  had  no  active  kindness  in  com- 
parison of  Edmund.  She  began  to  think  it  rather 
hard  upon  the  mare  to  have  such  double  duty ;  if 
she  were  forgotten,  the  poor  mare  should  be  re- 
membered. 

Her  feelings  for  one  and  the  other  were  soon  a 
little  tranquillized,  by  seeing  the  party  in  the 
meadow  disperse,  and  Miss  Crawford  still  on 
horseback,  but  attended  by  Edmund  on  foot, 
pass  through  a  gate  into  the  lane,  and  so  into  the 
park,  and  make  towards  the  spot  where  she  stood. 
She  began  then  to  be  afraid  of  appearing  rude 
and  impatient;  and  walked  to  meet  them  with  a 
great  anxiety  to  avoid  the  suspicion. 

"My  dear  Miss  Price,"  said  Miss  Crawford, 
as  soon  as  she  was  at  all  within  hearing,  "I  am 
come  to  make  my  own  apologies  for  keeping  you 
waiting;  but  I  have  nothing  in  the  world  to  say 
for  myself.  I  knew  it  was  very  late,  and  that  I 
was  behaving  extremely  ill ;  and  therefore,  if  you 
please,  you  must  forgive  me.  Selfishness  must 
always  be  forgiven,  you  know,  because  there  is 
no  hope  of  a  cure." 
[96] 

I 


■MAN  Si 

For  then  tlian  tiinr 

cousin  to  18  far  as  ^ 

lid  he.  " 

l)y  pi"e\-^ 

sooner:  clciids  art'  now  t 
not  suffer  f'rt>ni  the  heat  a 
le  then.    I  'ii  may  ; 

ich  exev'  » i^h  you  h-iw  -<• 

w'alk  ho 

>artofitfVr  ae  but 

assure  j^ou,'  said  she,  as  <\ 
■d;  "I  am  \ 
,  but  doing  .....   .    < 

e  way  to  you  with  a 
ly  hope  you  will  ha\  c  a  p 
1  may  have  nothing  but 
^^-  -htful,  br     -^^     ■     - 
-  -  — -iinian,  v  ;:     . 
>wn  horse,  now  joinin 
hers,  and  they  set  off 
'  ;  her  ff ' ' 


r  did  her  attendai' 

ts  on  >' 

I   am  frttny*  tx^  make  my  own  alOlop^«^  lor   ..crpiu^  vou 

waiting"  ■    ;   . 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

and  ''  In's  iTood  nature  by  any  one?     She 

(•(mT  ii,  indeed,  that  Mr  Crawford 

ave  saved  him  the  trouble;  that  it 

rly  proper  and  becom- 

v.  .i..   v^    ;one  it  himself;  but  Mr 

.  all  his  boasted  good-nature,  ami 

n\\  his  coaclmianship,  probably  knew  nothing  of 

th;'  matter,  and  had  no  active  kindness  in  com- 

■  ^'  '  L    She  began  to  think  it  rather 

i  1  -  to  have  such  double  duty;  if 

sht'  >vere  f'  m,  the  poor  mare  should  be  re- 

membcnn. 

Hf  r  !  one  and  the  other  were  soon  a 

^  •'■•     ^'  .1,   by  seeing  the  party  in  the 

se,  and  IMiss  Crawford  still  on 

horseback,  but  attended  by  Edmund  on  foot, 

s  through  a  gate  into  the  lane,  and  so  into  tl 
>      k,  and  make  towards  the  spot  where  she  stood. 
I'i  •  began  then  to  be  afraid  of  appearing  rude 
and  impatient;  and  walked  to  meet  them  with  a 
great  anxiety  to  avoid  the  suspicion, 

"My  dear  Miss  Price,"  said  Miss  Crawford. 
•'w  ^rtou  as  she  was  at  all  within  hearing,  "I  an. 
I  e  to  make  my  own  apologies  for  keeping  you 
waiting;  but  I  have  nothing  In  the  world  to  say 
for  myself.  I  knew  it  was  very  late,  and  that  I 
wasbel  '  '      'i;and"         *    e,  if  you 

u<>7jj|I«^«Bi  -v-..  .,„^^. ^„,  jjment  »  'ss  must 

always  be  forgiven,  you  know,'^  there  is 

no  hope  of  a  cure.*' 
[96] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Fanny's  answer  was  extremely  civil,  and 
Edmund  added  his  conviction  that  she  could  be  in 
no  hurry.  "For  there  is  more  than  time  enough 
for  my  cousin  to  ride  twice  as  far  as  she  ever 
goes,"  said  he,  "and  you  have  been  promoting  her 
comfort  by  preventing  her  from  setting  off  half- 
an-hour  sooner:  clouds  are  now  coming  up,  and 
she  will  not  suffer  from  the  heat  as  she  would 
have  done  then.  1  wish  you  may  not  be  fatigued 
by  so  much  exercise.  I  wish  you  had  saved  your- 
self this  walk  home." 

"No  part  of  it  fatigues  me  but  getting  off  this 
horse,  I  assure  you,"  said  she,  as  she  sprang  down 
with  his  help;  "I  am  very  strong.  Nothing  ever 
fatigues  me,  but  doing  what  I  do  not  like.  Miss 
Price,  I  give  way  to  you  with  a  very  bad  grace; 
but  I  sincerely  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant  ride, 
and  that  I  may  have  nothing  but  good  to  hear  of 
this  dear,  delightful,  beautiful  animal." 

The  old  coachman,  who  had  been  waiting  about 
with  his  own  horse,  now  joining  them,  Fanny  was 
lifted  on  hers,  and  they  set  off  across  another  part 
of  the  park ;  her  feelings  of  discomfort  not  light- 
ened by  seeing,  as  she  looked  back,  that  the  others 
were  walking  down  the  hill  together  to  the  vil- 
lage ;  nor  did  her  attendant  do  her  much  good  by 
his  comments  on  Miss  Crawford's  great  clever- 
ness as  a  horsewoman,  which  he  had  been  watch- 
ing with  an  interest  almost  equal  to  her  own. 

[97] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  a  lady  with  such  a  good 
heart  for  riding!"  said  he.  "I  never  see  one  sit  a 
horse  better.  She  did  not  seem  to  have  a  thought 
of  fear.  Very  different  from  you,  miss,  when 
you  first  began,  six  years  ago  come  next  Efaster. 
Lord  bless  you!  how  you  did  tremble  when  Sir 
Thomas  first  had  you  put  on!" 

In  the  drawing-room  Miss  Crawford  was  also 
celebrated.  Ller  merit  in  being  gifted  by  Nature 
with  strength  and  courage,  was  fully  appreciated 
by  the  ]\Iiss  Bertrams;  her  delight  in  riding  was 
like  their  own ;  her  early  excellence  in  it  was  like 
their  own,  and  they  had  great  pleasure  in  prais- 
ing it. 

"I  was  sure  she  would  ride  well,"  said  Julia; 
"she  has  the  make  for  it.  Her  figure  is  as  neat  as 
her  brother's." 

"Yes,"  added  Maria,  "and  her  spirits  are  as 
good,  and  she  has  the  same  energy  of  character. 
I  cannot  but  think  that  good  horsemanship  has  a 
great  deal  to  do  with  the  mind." 

When  they  parted  at  night,  Edmund  asked 
Fanny  whether  she  meant  to  ride  the  next  day. 

"No,  I  do  not  know — not  if  you  want  the 
mare,"  was  her  answer.  "I  do  not  want  her  at 
all  for  myself,"  said  he;  "but  whenever  you  are 
next  inclined  to  stay  at  home,  I  think  Miss  Craw- 
ford would  be  glad  to  have  her  a  longer  time — 
for  a  whole  morning,  in  short.  She  has  a  great 
[98] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

desire  to  get  as  far  as  Mansfield  Common;  Mrs 
Grant  has  been  telling  her  of  its  fine  views,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  of  her  being  perfectly  equal  to  it. 
But  any  morning  will  do  for  this.  She  would 
be  extremely  sorry  to  interfere  with  you.  It 
would  be  very  wrong  if  she  did.  She  rides  only 
for  pleasure;  you  for  health." 

"I  shall  not  ride  to-morrow,  certainly,"  said 
Fanny;  "I  have  been  out  very  often  lately,  and 
would  rather  stay  at  home.  You  know  I  am 
strong  enough  now  to  walk  very  well." 

Edmund  looked  pleased,  which  must  be 
Fanny's  comfort,  and  the  ride  to  Mansfield  Com- 
mon took  place  the  next  morning:  the  party  in- 
cluded all  the  young  people  but  herself,  and  was 
much  enjoyed  at  the  time,  and  doubly  enjoyed 
again  in  the  evening  discussion.  A  successful 
scheme  of  this  sort  generally  brings  on  another; 
and  the  having  been  to  Mansfield  Common  dis- 
posed them  all  for  going  somewhere  else  the  day 
after.  There  were  many  other  views  to  be  shown ; 
and  though  the  weather  was  hot,  there  were  shady 
lanes  wherever  they  wanted  to  go.  A  young 
party  is  always  provided  with  a  shady  lane.  Four 
fine  mornings  successively  were  spent  in  this 
manner,  in  showing  the  Craw  fords  the  country, 
and  doing  the  honours  of  its  finest  spots.  Every- 
thing answered;  it  was  all  gaiety  and  good 
humour,  the  heat  only  supplying  inconvenience 

[99] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

enough  to  be  talked  of  with  pleasure — till  the 
fourth  day,  when  the  happiness  of  one  of  the 
party  was  exceedingly  clouded.  Miss  Bertram 
was  the  one.  Edmund  and  Julia  were  invited  to 
dine  at  the  Parsonage,  and  she  was  excluded.  It 
was  meant  and  done  by  Mrs  Grant,  with  perfect 
good  humour,  on  Mr  Rushworth's  account,  who 
was  partly  expected  at  the  Park  that  day;  but  it 
was  felt  as  a  very  grievous  injury,  and  her  good 
manners  were  severely  taxed  to  conceal  her  vexa- 
tion and  anger  till  she  reached  home.  As  Mr 
Rushworth  did  7iot  come,  the  injury  was  in- 
creased, and  she  had  not  even  the  relief  of  shew- 
ing her  power  over  him;  she  could  only  be  sullen 
to  her  mother,  aunt,  and  cousin,  and  throw  as 
great  a  gloom  as  possible  over  their  dinner  and 
dessert. 

Between  ten  and  eleven,  Edmund  and  Julia 
walked  into  the  drawing-room,  fresh  with  the 
evening  air,  glowing  and  cheerful,  the  very  re- 
verse of  what  they  found  in  the  three  ladies  sit- 
ting there,  for  Maria  would  scarcely  raise  her 
eyes  from  her  book,  and  Lady  Bertram  was  half 
asleep ;  and  even  Mrs  Norris,  discomposed  by  her 
niece's  ill  humour,  and  having  asked  one  or  two 
questions  about  the  dinner,  which  were  not  imme- 
diately attended  to,  seemed  almost  determined  to 
say  no  more.  For  a  few  minutes,  the  brother  and 
sister  were  too  eager  in  their  praise  of  the  night 
[100] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

and  their  remarks  on  the  stars,  to  think  beyond 
themselves;  but  when  the  first  pause  came, 
Edmund,  looking  around,  said,  "But  where  is 
Fanny?    Is  she  gone  to  bed?" 

"No,  not  that  I  know  of,"  replied  Mrs  Norris; 
"she  was  here  a  moment  ago." 

Her  own  gentle  voice  speaking  from  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  which  was  a  very  long  one,  told 
them  that  she  was  on  the  sofa.  Mrs  Norris  began 
scolding. 

"That  is  a  very  foolish  trick,  Fanny,  to  be 
idling  away  all  the  evening  upon  a  sofa.  Why 
cannot  you  come  and  sit  here,  and  employ  your- 
self as  we  do?  If  you  have  no  work  of  your  own,  I 
can  supply  you  from  the  poor  basket.  There  is 
all  the  new  calico,  that  was  bought  last  week,  not 
touched  yet.  I  am  sure  I  almost  broke  my  back 
by  cutting  it  out.  You  should  learn  to  think  of 
other  people:  and  take  my  word  for  it,  it  is  a 
shocking  trick  for  a  young  person  to  be  always 
lolling  upon  a  sofa." 

Before  half  this  was  said,  Fanny  was  returned 
to  her  seat  at  the  table,  and  had  taken  up  her 
work  again;  and  Julia,  who  was  in  high  good 
humour,  from  the  pleasures  of  the  day,  did  her 
the  justice  of  exclaiming,  "I  must  say,  ma'am, 
that  Fanny  is  as  little  upon  the  sofa  as  anybody 
in  the  house." 

"Fanny,"  said  Edmund,  after  looking  at  her 
attentively,  "I  am  sure  you  have  the  headache." 

noil 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

She  could  not  deny  it,  but  said  it  was  not  very 
bad. 

"I  can  hardly  believe  you,"  he  replied;  "I  know 
your  looks  too  well.  How  long  have  you  had 
it?" 

"Since  a  little  before  dinner.  It  is  nothing 
but  the  heat." 

"Did  jT^ou  go  out  in  the  heat?" 

"Go  out!  to  be  sure  she  did,"  said  Mrs  Norris: 
"would  you  have  her  stay  within  such  a  fine  day 
as  this  ?  Were  not  we  all  out  ?  Even  your  mother 
was  out  to-day  for  above  an  hour." 

"Yes,  indeed,  Edmund,"  added  her  ladyship, 
who  had  been  thoroughly  awakened  by  Mrs  Nor- 
ris's  sharp  reprimand  to  Fanny;  "I  was  out  above 
an  hour.  I  sat  three  quarters  of  an  hour  in  the 
flower-garden,  while  Fanny  cut  the  roses,  and 
very  pleasant  it  was,  I  assure  you,  but  very  hot. 
It  was  shady  enough  in  the  alcove,  but  I  declare  I 
quite  dreaded  the  coming  home  again." 

"Fanny  has  been  cutting  roses,  has  she?" 

"Yes,  and  I  am  afraid  they  will  be  the  last  this 
year.  Poor  thing !  She  found  it  hot  enough ;  but 
they  were  so  full  blown  that  one  could  not  wait." 

"There  was  no  help  for  it,  certainly,"  rejoined 
Mrs  Norris,  in  a  rather  softened  voice;  "but  I 
question  whether  her  headache  might  not  be 
caught  then,  sister.  There  is  nothing  so  likely  to 
give  it  as  standing  and  stooping  in  a  hot  sun ;  but 
[102] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

I  dare  say  it  will  be  well  to-morrow.  Suppose 
you  let  her  have  your  aromatic  vinegar ;  I  always 
forget  to  have  mine  filled." 

"She  has  got  it,"  said  Lady  Bertram;  "she  has 
had  it  ever  since  she  came  back  from  your  house 
the  second  time." 

"What!"  cried  Edmund;  "has  she  been  walk- 
ing as  well  as  cutting  roses;  walking  across  the 
hot  park  to  your  house,  and  doing  it  twice, 
ma'am?    No  wonder  her  head  aches." 

Mrs  Norris  was  talking  to  Julia,  and  did  not 
hear. 

"I  was  afraid  it  would  be  too  much  for  her," 
said  Lady  Bertram;  "but  when  the  roses  were 
gathered,  your  aunt  wished  to  have  them,  and 
then  you  know  they  must  be  taken  home." 

"But  were  there  roses  enough  to  oblige  her  to 
go  twice?" 

"No;  but  they  were  to  be  put  into  the  spare 
room  to  dry;  and,  unluckily,  Fanny  forgot  to 
lock  the  door  of  the  room  and  bring  away  the  key, 
so  she  was  obliged  to  go  again." 

Edmund  got  up  and  walked  about  the  room, 
saying,  "And  could  nobody  be  employed  on  such 
an  errand  but  Fanny?  Upon  my  word,  ma'am, 
it  has  been  a  very  ill-managed  business." 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  how  it  was  to  have 
been  done  better,"  cried  Mrs  Norris,  unable  to 
be  longer   deaf;    "unless   I   had   gone  myself, 

[103] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

indeed,  but  I  cannot  be  in  two  places  at  once ;  and 
I  was  talking  to  Mr  Green  at  that  very  time 
about  your  mother's  dairymaid,  by  her  desire,  and 
had  promised  John  Groom  to  write  to  Mrs 
Jeff eries  about  his  son,  and  the  poor  fellow  was 
waiting  for  me  half  an  hour.  I  think  nobody  can 
justly  accuse  me  of  sparing  myself  upon  any  oc- 
casion, but  really  I  cannot  do  everything  at  once. 
And  as  for  Fanny's  just  stepping  down  to  my 
house  for  me— it  is  not  much  above  a  quarter  of 
a  mile — I  cannot  think  I  was  unreasonable  to  ask 
it.  How  often  do  I  pace  it  three  times  a  day, 
early  and  late,  ay,  and  in  all  weathers  too,  and 
say  nothing  about  it?" 

"I  wish  Fanny  had  half  your  strength,  ma'am." 
"If  Fanny  would  be  more  regular  in  her  exer- 
cise, she  would  not  be  knocked  up  so  soon.  She 
has  not  been  out  on  horseback  now  this  long  while, 
and  I  am  persuaded,  that  when  she  does  not  ride, 
she  ought  to  walk.  If  she  had  been  riding  before, 
I  should  not  have  asked  it  of  her.  But  I  thought 
it  would  rather  do  her  good  after  being  stooping 
among  the  roses ;  for  there  is  nothing  so  refresh- 
ing as  a  walk  after  a  fatigue  of  that  kind;  and 
though  the  sun  was  strong,  it  was  not  so  very 
hot.  Between  ourselves,  Edmund,"  nodding  sig- 
nificantly at  his  mother,  "it  was  cutting  the  roses, 
and  dawdling  about  in  the  flower-garden,  that 
did  the  mischief." 
[104] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"I  am  afraid  it  was,  indeed,"  said  the  more  can- 
did Lady  Bertram,  who  had  overheard  her;  "I 
am  very  much  afraid  she  caught  the  headache 
there,  for  the  heat  was  enough  to  kill  anybody. 
It  was  as  much  as  I  could  bear  myself.  Sitting 
and  calling  to  Pug,  and  trying  to  keep  him  from 
the  flower-beds,  was  almost  too  much  for  me." 

Edmund  said  no  more  to  either  lady;  but  going 
quietly  to  another  table,  on  which  the  supper  tray 
yet  remained,  brought  a  glass  of  Madeira  to 
Fanny,  and  obliged  her  to  drink  the  greater  part. 
She  wished  to  be  able  to  decline  it ;  but  the  tears, 
which  a  variety  of  feelings  created,  made  it  easier 
to  swallow  than  to  speak. 

Vexed  as  Edmund  was  with  his  mother  and 
aunt,  he  was  still  more  angry  with  himself.  His 
own  forgetfulness  of  her  was  worse  than  any- 
thing which  they  had  done.  Nothing  of  this 
would  have  happened  had  she  been  properly  con- 
sidered; but  she  had  been  left  four  days  together 
without  any  choice  of  companions  or  exercise, 
and  without  any  excuse  for  avoiding  whatever 
her  unreasonable  aunts  might  require.  He  was 
ashamed  to  think  that  for  four  days  together  she 
had  not  had  the  power  of  riding,  and  very  seri- 
ously resolved,  however  unwilling  he  must  be  to 
check  a  pleasure  of  Miss  Crawford's,  that  it 
should  never  happen  again. 

Fanny  went  to  bed  with  her  heart  as  full  as  on 

[105] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

the  first  evening  of  her  arrival  at  the  Park.  The 
state  of  her  spirits  had  probably  had  its  share  in 
her  indisposition;  for  she  had  been  feeling  ne- 
glected, and  been  struggling  against  discontent 
and  envy  for  some  days  past.  As  she  leant  on  the 
sofa,  to  which  she  had  retreated  that  she  might 
not  be  seen,  the  pain  of  her  mind  had  been  much 
beyond  that  in  her  head;  and  the  sudden  change 
which  Edmund's  kindness  had  then  occasioned, 
made  her  hardly  know  how  to  support  herself. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FANNY'S  rides  recommenced  the  very  next 
day;  and  as  it  was  a  pleasant  fresh-feel- 
ing morning,  less  hot  than  the  weather 
had  lately  been,  Edmund  trusted  that  her  losses 
both  of  health  and  pleasure  would  be  soon  made 
good.  While  she  was  gone,  Mr  Rushworth  ar- 
rived, escorting  his  mother,  who  came  to  be  civil 
and  to  show  her  civility  especially,  in  urging  the 
execution  of  the  plan  for  visiting  Sotherton, 
which  had  been  started  a  fortnight  before,  and 
which,  in  consequence  of  her  subsequent  absence 
from  home,  had  since  lain  dormant.  Mrs  Norris 
and  her  nieces  were  all  well  pleased  with  its  re- 
vival, and  an  early  day  was  named,  and  agreed 
to,  provided  Mr  Crawford  should  be  disengaged; 
[106] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

the  young  ladies  did  not  forget  that  stipulation, 
and  though  Mrs  Norris  would  willingly  have 
answered  for  his  being  so,  they  would  neither 
authorize  the  liberty,  nor  run  the  risk ;  and  at  last, 
on  a  hint  from  Miss  Bertram,  Mr  Rushworth  dis- 
covered that  the  properest  thing  to  be  done  was 
for  him  to  walk  down  to  the  Parsonage  directly, 
and  call  on  Mr  Crawford,  and  inquire  whether 
Wednesday  would  suit  him  or  not. 

Before  his  return,  INIrs  Grant  and  Miss  Craw- 
ford came  in.  Having  been  out  some  time,  and 
taken  a  different  route  to  the  house,  they  had  not 
met  him.  Comfortable  hopes,  however,  were 
given  that  he  would  find  Mr  Crawford  at  home. 
The  Sotherton  scheme  was  mentioned  of  course. 
It  was  hardly  possible,  indeed,  that  anything  else 
should  be  talked  of,  for  Mrs  Norris  was  in  high 
spirits  about  it ;  and  Mrs  Rushworth,  a  well-mean- 
ing, civil,  prosing,  pompous  woman,  who  thought 
nothing  of  consequence,  but  as  it  related  to  her 
own  and  her  son's  concerns,  had  not  yet  given 
over  pressing  Lady  Bertram  to  be  of  the  party. 
Lady  Bertram  constantly  declined  it;  but  her 
placid  manner  of  refusal  made  Mrs  Rushworth 
still  think  she  wished  to  come,  till  Mrs  Norris's 
more  numerous  words  and  louder  tone  convinced 
her  of  the  truth. 

"The  fatigue  would  be  too  much  for  my  sister, 
a  great  deal  too  much,  I  assure  you,  my  dear 

[107] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Mrs  Rushworth.  Ten  miles  there,  and  ten  back, 
you  know.  You  must  excuse  my  sister  on  this 
occasion,  and  accept  of  our  two  dear  girls  and 
myself  without  her.  Sotherton  is  the  only  place 
that  could  give  her  a  wish  to  go  so  far,  but  it  can- 
not be,  indeed.  She  will  have  a  companion  in 
Fanny  Price,  you  know,  so  it  will  all  do  very  well ; 
and  as  for  Edmund,  as  he  is  not  here  to  speak  for 
liimself ,  I  will  answer  for  his  being  most  happy 
to  join  the  party.  He  can  go  on  horseback,  you 
know." 

Mrs  Rushworth  being  obliged  to  yield  to  Lady 
Bertram's  staying  at  home,  could  only  be  sorry. 
"The  loss  of  her  ladyship's  company  would  be  a 
great  drawback,  and  she  should  have  been  ex- 
tremely happy  to  have  seen  the  young  lady  too. 
Miss  Price,  who  had  never  been  at  Sotherton  yet, 
and  it  was  a  pity  she  should  not  see  the  place." 

"You  are  very  kind,  you  are  all  kindness,  my 
dear  madam,"  cried  Mrs  Norris;  "but  as  to 
Fanny,  she  will  have  opportunities  in  plenty  of 
seeing  Sotherton.  She  has  time  enough  before 
her;  and  her  going  now  is  quite  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. Lady  Bertram  could  not  possibly  spare 
her." 

"Oh  no!  I  cannot  do  without  Fanny." 

Mrs  Rushworth  proceeded  next,  under  the  con- 
viction that  everybody  must  be  wanting  to  see 
Sotherton,  to  include  Miss  Crawford  in  the  invi- 
[108] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

tation;  and  though  [^Irs]*  Grant,  who  had  not 
heen  at  the  trouble  of  visiting  Mrs  Rushworth,  on 
her  coming  into  the  neighbourhood,  civilly  de- 
clined it  on  her  own  account ;  she  was  glad  to  se- 
cure any  pleasure  for  her  sister ;  and  Mary,  prop- 
erly pressed  and  persuaded,  was  not  long  in  ac- 
cepting her  share  of  the  civility.  Mr  Rushworth 
came  back  from  the  Parsonage  successful;  and 
Edmund  made  his  appearance  just  in  time  to 
learn  what  had  been  settled  for  Wednesday,  to 
attend  Mrs  Rushworth  to  her  carriage,  and  walk 
half  way  down  the  park  with  the  two  other  ladies. 

On  his  return  to  the  breakfast-room,  he  found 
Mrs  Norris  trying  to  make  up  her  mind  as  to 
whether  Miss  Crawford's  being  of  the  party  were 
desirable  or  not,  or  whether  her  brother's 
barouche  would  not  be  full  without  her.  The 
Miss  Bertrams  laughed  at  the  idea,  assuring  her 
that  the  barouche  would  hold  four  perfectly  well, 
independent  of  the  box,  on  which  one  might  go 
with  him. 

"But  why  is  it  necessary,"  said  Edmund,  "that 
Crawford's  carriage,  or  his  only,  should  be  em- 
ployed? Why  is  no  use  to  be  made  of  my 
mother's  chaise?  I  could  not,  when  the  scheme 
was  first  mentioned  the  other  day,  understand 
why  a  visit  from  the  family  were  not  to  be  made 
in  the  carriage  of  the  family." 

*  Printed  "Miss ' '  in  the  early  editions. 

[109] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"What!"  cried  Julia:  "go  box'd  up  three  in  a 
post-chaise  in  this  weather,  when  we  may  have 
seats  in  a  barouche!  No,  my  dear  Edmund,  that 
will  not  quite  do." 

"Besides,"  said  Maria,  "I  know  that  Mr  Craw- 
ford depends  upon  taking  us.  After  what  passed 
at  first,  he  would  claim  it  as  a  promise." 

"And,  my  dear  Edmund,"  added  Mrs  Norris, 
"taking  out  two  carriages  when  one  will  do,  would 
be  trouble  for  nothing;  and,  between  ourselves, 
coachman  is  not  very  fond  of  the  roads  between 
this  and  Sotherton;  he  always  complains  bitterly 
of  the  narrow  lanes  scratching  his  carriage,  and 
you  know  one  should  not  like  to  have  dear  Sir 
Thomas,  when  he  comes  home,  find  all  the  varnish 
scratched  off." 

"That  would  not  be  a  very  handsome  reason 
for  using  Mr  Crawford's,"  said  Maria;  "but  the 
truth  is,  that  Wilcox  is  a  stupid  old  fellow,  and 
does  not  know  how  to  drive.  I  will  answer  for  it, 
that  we  shall  find  no  inconvenience  from  narrow 
roads  on  Wednesday." 

"There  is  no  hardship,  I  suppose,  nothing  un- 
pleasant," said  Edmund,  "in  going  on  the 
barouche-box." 

"Unpleasant!"  cried  Maria:  "oh  dear!  I  be- 
lieve it  would  be  generally  thought  the  favourite 
seat.  There  can  be  no  comparison  as  to  one's 
view  of  the  country.  Probably  Miss  Crawford 
will  choose  the  barouche  box  herself." 
[110] 


I 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

"There  can  be  no  objection,  then,  to  Fanny's 
going  with  you;  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  your 
having  room  for  her." 

"Fanny!"  repeated  Mrs  Norris;  "my  dear 
Edmund,  there  is  no  idea  of  her  going  with  us. 
She  stays  with  her  aunt.  I  told  Mrs  Rushworth 
so.    She  is  not  expected." 

"You  can  have  no  reason,  I  imagine,  madam," 
said  he,  addressing  his  mother,  "for  wishing 
Fanny  not  to  be  of  the  party,  but  as  it  relates  to 
yourself,  to  your  own  comfort.  If  you  could  do 
without  her,  you  would  not  wish  to  keep  her  at 
home?" 

"To  be  sure  not,  but  I  cannot  do  without  her." 

"You  can,  if  I  stay  at  home  with  you,  as  I 
mean  to  do." 

There  was  a  general  cry  out  at  this.  "Yes,"  he 
continued,  "there  is  no  necessity  for  my  going, 
and  I  mean  to  stay  at  home.  Fanny  has  a  great 
desire  to  see  Sotherton.  I  know  she  wishes  it 
very  much.  She  has  not  often  a  gratification  of 
the  kind,  and  I  am  sure,  ma'am,  you  would  be 
glad  to  give  her  the  pleasure  now?" 

"Oh,  yes!  very  glad,  if  your  aunt  sees  no  objec- 
tion." 

Mrs  Norris  was  very  ready  with  the  only  ob- 
jection which  could  remain — their  having  posi- 
tively assured  Mrs  Rushworth  that  Fanny  could 
not  go,  and  the  very  strange  appearance  there 

[111] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

would  consequently  be  in  taking  her,  which 
seemed  to  her  a  difficulty  quite  impossible  to  be 
got  over.  It  must  have  the  strangest  appearance ! 
It  would  be  something  so  very  unceremonious,  so 
bordering  on  disrespect  for  Mrs  Rushworth, 
whose  own  manners  were  such  a  pattern  of  good- 
breeding  and  attention,  that  she  really  did  not 
feel  equal  to  it.  Mrs  Norris  had  no  affection  for 
Fanny,  and  no  wish  of  procuring  her  pleasure  at 
any  time;  but  her  opposition  to  Edmund  7iow, 
arose  more  from  partiality  for  her  own  scheme, 
because  it  was  her  own,  than  from  anything  else. 
She  felt  that  she  had  arranged  everything  ex- 
tremely well,  and  that  any  alteration  must  be  for 
the  worse.  When  Edmund,  therefore,  told  her  in 
reply,  as  he  did  when  she  would  give  him  the  hear- 
mg,  that  she  need  not  distress  herself  on  Mrs  j^| 
Rushworth's  account,  because  he  had  taken  the 
opportunity  as  he  walked  with  her  through  the 
hall  of  mentioning  Miss  Price  as  one  who  would 
probably  be  of  the  party,  and  had  directly  re- 
ceived a  very  sufficient  invitation  for  [his]* 
cousin,  Mrs  Norris  was  too  much  vexed  to  submit 
with  a  very  good  grace,  and  would  only  say, 
"Very  well,  very  well,  just  as  you  choose,  settle 
it  your  own  way,  I  am  sure  I  do  not  care  about 
it." 

"It  seems  very  odd,"  said  Maria,  "that  you 
should  be  staying  at  home  instead  of  Fanny." 

♦Printed  "her  "  in  the  early  editions. 
[112] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"I  am  sure  she  ought  to  be  very  much  obliged 
to  you,"  added  Julia,  hastily  leaving  the  room  as 
she  spoke,  from  a  consciousness  that  she  ought  to 
offer  to  stay  at  home  herself. 

"Fanny  will  feel  quite  as  grateful  as  the  occa- 
sion requires,"  was  Edmund's  only  reply,  and  the 
subject  dropt. 

Fanny's  gratitude,  when  she  heard  the  plan, 
w^as,  in  fact,  much  greater  than  her  pleasure. 
She  felt  Edmund's  kindness  with  all,  and  more 
than  all,  the  sensibility  which  he,  unsuspicious  of 
her  fond  attachment,  could  be  aware  of ;  but  that 
he  should  forego  any  enjoyment  on  her  account 
gave  her  pain,  and  her  own  satisfaction  in  seeing 
Sotherton  would  be  nothing  without  him. 

The  next  meeting  of  the  two  Mansfield  fam- 
ilies produced  another  alteration  in  the  plan,  and 
one  that  was  admitted  with  general  approbation. 
Mrs  Grant  offered  herself  as  companion  for  the 
day  to  Lady  Bertram  in  lieu  of  her  son,  and  Dr 
Grant  was  to  join  them  at  dinner.  Lady  Ber- 
tram was  very  well  pleased  to  have  it  so,  and  the 
young  ladies  were  in  spirits  again.  Even 
Edmund  was  very  thankful  for  an  arrangement 
which  restored  him  to  his  share  of  the  party ;  and 
Mrs  Norris  thought  it  an  excellent  plan,  and  had 
it  at  her  tongue's  end,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
proposing  it,  when  Mrs  Grant  spoke. 

Wednesday  was  fine,  and  soon  after  breakfast 

[113] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

the  barouche  arrived,  Mr  Crawford  driving  his 
sisters;  and  as  everybody  was  ready,  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  but  for  Mrs  Grant  to  ahght, 
and  the  others  to  take  their  places.  The  place 
of  all  places,  the  envied  seat,  the  post  of  honour, 
was  unappropriated.  To  whose  happy  lot  was 
it  to  fall?  While  each  of  the  Miss  Bertrams  was 
meditating  how  best,  and  with  the  most  appear- 
ance of  obliging  the  others,  to  secure  it,  the  mat- 
ter was  settled  by  JNIrs  Grant's  saying,  as  she 
stepped  from  the  carriage,  "As  there  are  five  of 
you,  it  will  be  better  that  one  should  sit  with 
Henry;  and  as  you  were  saying  lately  that  you 
wished  you  could  drive,  Julia,  I  think  this  will  be 
a  good  opportunity  for  you  to  take  a  lesson." 

Happy  Julia !  Unhappy  Maria !  The  former 
was  on  the  barouche-box  in  a  moment,  the  latter 
took  her  seat  within,  in  gloom  and  mortification; 
and  the  carriage  drove  off  amid  the  good  wishes 
of  the  two  remaining  ladies,  and  the  barking  of 
pug  in  his  mistress's  arms. 

Their  road  was  through  a  pleasant  country; 
and  Fanny,  whose  rides  had  never  been  exten- 
sive, was  soon  beyond  her  knowledge,  and  was 
very  happy  in  observing  all  that  was  new,  and 
admiring  all  that  was  pretty.  She  was  not  often 
invited  to  join  in  the  conversation  of  the  others, 
nor  did  she  desire  it.  Her  own  thoughts  and  re- 
flections were  habitually  her  best  companions; 
[114] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

and,  in  observing  the  appearance  of  the  country, 
the  bearings  of  the  roads,  the  diif  erence  of  soil, 
the  state  of  the  harvest,  the  cottages,  the  cattle, 
the  children,  she  found  entertainment  that  could 
only  have  been  heightened  by  having  Edmund  to 
speak  to  of  what  she  felt.  That  was  the  only 
point  of  resemblance  between  her  and  the  lady 
who  sat  by  her;  in  everything  but  a  value  for 
Edmund,  Miss  Crawford  was  very  unlike  her. 
She  had  none  of  Fanny's  delicacy  of  taste,  of 
mind,  of  feeling;  she  saw  Nature,  inanimate 
Nature,  with  little  observation ;  her  attention  was 
all  for  men  and  women,  her  talents  for  the  light 
and  lively.  In  looking  back  after  Edmund,  how- 
ever, when  there  was  any  stretch  of  road  behind 
them,  or  when  he  gained  on  them  in  ascending  a 
considerable  hill,  they  were  united,  and  a  "there 
he  is"  broke  at  the  same  moment  from  them  both, 
more  than  once. 

For  the  first  seven  miles  Miss  Bertram  had 
very  little  real  comfort;  her  prospect  always 
ended  in  Mr  Crawford  and  her  sister  sitting  side 
by  side,  full  of  conversation  and  merriment;  and 
to  see  only  his  expressive  profile  as  he  turned  with 
a  smile  to  Julia,  or  to  catch  the  laugh  of  the 
other,  was  a  perpetual  source  of  irritation,  which 
her  own  sense  of  propriety  could  but  just  smooth 
over.  When  Julia  looked  back,  it  was  with  a 
countenance  of  delight,  and  whenever  she  spoke 

[115] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

to  them,  it  was  in  the  highest  spirits:  "her  view 
of  the  country  was  charming,  she  wished  they 
could  all  see  it,"  &c. ;  but  her  only  offer  of  ex- 
change was  addressed  to  INIiss  Crawford,  as  they 
gained  the  summit  of  a  long  hill,  and  was  not 
more  inviting  than  this:  "Here  is  a  fine  burst  of 
country.  I  wish  you  had  my  seat,  but  I  dare  say 
you  will  not  take  it,  let  me  press  you  ever  so 
much;"  and  Miss  Crawford  could  hardly  answer, 
before  they  were  moving  again  at  a  good  pace. 

When  they  came  within  the  influence  of  Soth- 
erton  associations,  it  vas  better  for  Miss  Ber- 
tram who  might  be  said  to  have  two  strings  to  her 
bow.  She  had  Rushworth- feelings,  and  Craw- 
ford-feelings, and  in  the  vicinity  of  Sotherton, 
the  former  had  considerable  effect.  Mr  Rush- 
worth's  consequence  was  hers.  She  could  not  tell 
Miss  Crawford  that  "those  woods  belonged  to 
Sotherton;"  she  could  not  carelessly  observe  that 
"she  believed  that  it  was  now  all  Mr  Rush  worth's 
property  on  each  side  of  the  road,"  without  ela- 
tion of  heart;  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  increase 
with  their  approach  to  the  capital  freehold  man- 
sion, and  ancient  manorial  residence  of  the  fam- 
ily, with  all  its  rights  of  court-leet  and  court- 
baron. 

"Now,  we  shall  have  no  more  rough  road.  Miss 
Crawford;  our  difficulties  are  over.  The  rest  of 
the  way  is  such  as  it  ought  to  be.  Mr  Rushworth 
[116] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

has  made  it  since  he  succeeded  to  the  estate. 
Here  begins  the  village.  Those  cottages  are 
really  a  disgrace.  The  church  spire  is  reckoned 
remarkably  handsome.  I  am  glad  the  church  is 
not  so  close  to  the  great  house  as  often  happens 
in  old  places.  The  annoyance  of  the  bells  must 
be  terrible.  There  is  the  parsonage ;  a  tidy-look- 
ing house,  and  I  understand  the  clergyman  and 
his  wife  are  very  decent  people.  Those  are  alms- 
houses, built  by  some  of  the  family.  To  the 
right  is  the  steward's  house ;  he  is  a  very  respect- 
able man.  Now,  we  are  coming  to  the  lodge- 
gates  ;  but  we  have  nearly  a  mile  through  the  park 
still.  It  is  not  ugly,  you  see,  at  this  end;  there  is 
some  fine  timber,  but  the  situation  of  the  house  is 
dreadful.  We  go  down  hill  to  it  for  half  a  mile, 
and  it  is  a  pity,  for  it  would  not  be  an  ill-looking 
place  if  it  had  a  better  approach." 

Miss  Crawford  was  not  slow  to  admire;  she 
pretty  well  guessed  Miss  Bertram's  feelings,  and 
made  it  a  point  of  honour  to  promote  her  enjoj^- 
ment  to  the  utmost.  OVIrs  Norris  was  all  delight 
and  volubility ;  and  even  Fanny  had  something  to 
say  in  admiration,  and  might  be  heard  with  com- 
placency. Her  eye  was  eagerly  taking  in  every- 
thing Mdthin  her  reach;  and  after  being  at  some 
pains  to  get  a  view  of  the  house,  and  observing 
that  "it  was  a  sort  of  building  which  she  could 
not  look  at  but  with  respect,"  she  added,  "Now, 

[117] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

where  is  the  avenue?  The  house  fronts  the  east, 
I  perceive.  The  avenue,  therefore,  must  be  at 
the  back  of  it.  JMr  Rushworth  talked  of  the  west 
front." 

"Yes,  it  is  exactly  behind  the  house;  begins  at 
a  little  distance,  and  ascends  for  half-a-mile  to 
the  extremity  of  the  grounds.  You  may  see 
something  of  it  here — something  of  the  more  dis- 
tant trees.    It  is  oak  entirely." 

Miss  Bertram  could  now  speak  with  decided 
information  of  what  she  had  known  nothing 
about,  when  Mr  Rushworth  had  asked  her 
opinion ;  and  her  spirits  were  in  as  happy  a  flutter 
as  vanity  and  pride  could  furnish,  when  they 
drove  up  to  the  spacious  stone  steps  before  the 
principal  entrance. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MR  RUSHWORTH  was  at  the  door  to 
receive  his  fair  lady;  and  the  whole 
party  were  welcomed  by  him  with  due 
attention.  In  the  drawing-room  they  were  met 
with  equal  cordiality  by  the  mother,  and  Miss 
Bertram  had  all  the  distinction  with  each  that  she 
could  wish.  After  the  business  of  arriving  was 
over,  it  was  first  necessary  to  eat,  and  the  doors 
[118] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

were  thrown  open  to  admit  them  through  one  or 
two  intermediate  rooms  into  the  appointed  din- 
ing-parlour,  where  a  collation  was  prepared  with 
abundance  and  elegance.  Much  was  said,  and 
much  was  ate,  and  all  went  well.  The  particular 
object  of  the  day  was  then  considered.  How 
would  Mr  Crawford  like,  in  what  manner  would 
he  choose,  to  take  a  survey  of  the  grounds?  Mr 
Rushworth  mentioned  his  curricle.  Mr  Craw- 
ford suggested  the  greater  desirableness  of  some 
carriage  which  might  convey  more  than  two. 
"To  be  depriving  themselves  of  the  advantage  of 
other  eyes  and  other  judgments,  might  be  an  evil 
even  beyond  the  loss  of  present  pleasure." 

Mrs  Rushworth  proposed  that  the  chaise 
should  be  taken  also;  but  this  was  scarcely  re- 
ceived as  an  amendment :  the  young  ladies  neither 
smiled  nor  spoke.  Her  next  proposition,  of 
shewing  the  house  to  such  of  them  as  had  not  been 
there  before,  was  more  acceptable,  for  Miss 
Bertram  was  pleased  to  have  its  size  displayed, 
and  all  were  glad  to  be  doing  something. 

The  whole  party  rose  accordingly,  and  under 
Mrs  Rushworth's  guidance  were  shewn  through 
a  number  of  rooms,  all  lofty,  and  many  large,  and 
amply  furnished  in  the  taste  of  fifty  years  back, 
with  shining  floors,  solid  mahogany,  rich  damask, 
marble,  gilding,  and  carving,  each  handsome  in 
its  way.    Of  pictures  there  were  abundance,  and 

[119] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

some  few  good,  but  the  larger  part  were  family 
portraits,  no  longer  anything  to  anybody  but 
Mrs  Rushworth,  who  had  been  at  great  pains  to 
learn  all  that  the  housekeeper  could  teach,  and 
was  now  almost  equally  well  qualified  to  shew  the 
house.  On  the  present  occasion,  she  addressed 
herself  chiefly  to  Miss  Crawford  and  Fanny,  but 
there  was  no  comparison  in  the  willingness  of 
their  attention ;  for  Miss  Crawford,  who  had  seen 
scores  of  great  houses,  and  cared  for  none  of 
them,  had  only  the  appearance  of  civilly  listening, 
while  Fanny,  to  whom  everything  was  almost  as 
interesting  as  it  was  new,  attended  with  unaffec- 
ted earnestness  to  all  that  Mrs  Rushworth  could 
relate  of  the  family  in  former  times,  its  rise  and 
grandeur,  regal  visits  and  loyal  efforts,  de- 
lighted to  connect  anything  with  history  already 
known,  or  warm  her  imagination  with  scenes  of 
the  past. 

The  situation  of  the  house  excluded  the  possi- 
bility of  much  prospect  from  any  of  the  rooms; 
and  while  Fanny  and  some  of  the  others  were  at- 
tending Mrs  Rushworth,  Henry  Crawford  was 
looking  grave  and  shaking  his  head  at  the  win- 
dows. Every  room  on  the  west  front  looked 
across  a  lawn  to  the  beginning  of  the  avenue 
immediately  beyond  tall  iron  palisades  and  gates. 

Having  visited  many  more  rooms  than  could  be 
supposed  to  be  of  any  other  use  than  to  contribute 
[120] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

to  the  window  tax,  and  find  employment  for 
housemaids,  "Now,"  said  INIrs  Rushworth,  "we 
are  coming  to  the  chapel,  which  properly  we 
ought  to  enter  from  above,  and  look  down  upon ; 
but  as  we  are  quite  among  friends,  I  will  take 
you  in  this  way,  if  you  will  excuse  me." 

They  entered.  Fanny's  imagination  had  pre- 
pared her  for  something  grander  than  a  mere 
spacious,  oblong  room,  fitted  up  for  the  purpose 
of  devotion:  with  nothing  more  striking  or  more 
solemn  than  the  profusion  of  mahogany,  and  the 
crimson  velvet  cushions  appearing  over  the  ledge 
of  the  family  gallery  above.  "I  am  disap- 
pointed," said  she,  in  a  low  voice  to  Edmund. 
"This  is  not  my  idea  of  a  chapel.  There  is  noth- 
ing awful  here,  nothing  melancholy,  nothing 
grand.  Here  are  no  aisles,  no  arches,  no  inscrip- 
tions, no  banners.  No  banners,  cousin,  to  be 
'blown  by  the  night  wind  of  heaven.'  No  signs 
that  a  'Scottish  monarch  sleeps  below." 

"You  forget,  Fanny,  how  lately  all  this  has 
been  built,  and  for  how  confined  a  purpose,  com- 
pared with  the  old  chapels  of  castles  and  monas- 
teries. It  was  only  for  the  private  use  of  the 
family.  They  have  been  buried,  I  suppose,  in  the 
parish  church.  There  you  must  look  for  the  ban- 
ners and  the  atchievements." 

"It  was  foolish  of  me  not  to  think  of  all  that ; 
but  I  am  disappointed." 

[121] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Mrs  Rushworth  began  her  relation.  "This 
chapel  was  fitted  up  as  you  see  it,  in  James  the 
Second's  time.  Before  that  period,  as  I  under- 
stand, the  pews  were  only  wainscot;  and  there  is 
some  reason  to  think  that  the  linings  and  cushions 
of  the  pulpit  and  family  seat  were  only  purple 
cloth ;  but  this  is  not  quite  certain.  It  is  a  hand- 
some chapel,  and  was  formerly  in  constant  use 
both  morning  and  evening.  Prayers  were  always 
read  in  it  by  the  domestic  chaplain,  within  the 
memory  of  many;  but  the  late  Mr  Rushworth 
left  it  off." 

"Every  generation  has  its  improvements,"  said 
Miss  Crawford,  with  a  smile,  to  Edmund. 

Mrs  Rushworth  was  gone  to  repeat  her  lesson 
to  Mr  Crawford;  and  Edmund,  Fanny  and  Miss         »■ 
Crawford,  remained  in  a  cluster  together.  ||| 

"It  is  a  pity,"  cried  Fanny,  "that  the  custom 
should  have  been  discontinued.  It  was  a  valuable 
part  of  former  times.  There  is  something  in  a 
chapel  and  chaplain  so  much  in  character  with  a 
great  house,  with  one's  ideas  of  what  such  a 
household  should  be !  A  whole  family  assembling 
regularly  for  the  purpose  of  prayer  is  fine!" 

"Very  fine,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Crawford, 
laughing.  "It  must  do  the  heads  of  the  family  a 
great  deal  of  good  to  force  all  the  poor  house- 
maids and  footmen  to  leave  business  and  pleas- 
ure, and  say  their  prayers  here  twice  a-day,  while 
[122] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

they  are  inventing  excuses  themselves  for  staying 
away." 

''That  is  hardly  Fanny's  idea  of  a  family  as- 
sembling," said  Edmund.  "If  the  master  and 
mistress  do  not  attend  themselves,  there  must  be 
more  harm  than  good  in  the  custom." 

"At  any  rate,  it  is  safer  to  leave  people  to  their 
own  devices  on  such  subjects.  Everybody  likes 
to  go  their  own  way — to  choose  their  own  time 
and  manner  of  devotion.  The  obligation  of  at- 
tendance, the  formality,  the  restraint,  the  length 
of  time — altogether  it  is  a  formidable  thing,  and 
what  nobody  likes;  and  if  the  good  people  who 
used  to  kneel  and  gape  in  that  gallery  could  have 
foreseen  that  the  time  w^ould  ever  come  when  men 
and  w^omen  might  lie  another  ten  minutes  in  bed, 
when  they  woke  with  a  headache,  without  danger 
of  reprobation,  because  chapel  was  missed,  they 
would  have  jumped  with  joy  and  envy.  Cannot 
you  imagine  with  what  unwilling  feelings  tlie 
former  belles  of  the  house  of  Rushworth  did 
many  a  time  repair  to  this  chapel?  The  young 
Mrs  Eleanors  and  Mrs  Bridgets — starched  up 
into  seeming  piety,  but  with  heads  full  of  some- 
thing very  different — especially  if  the  poor  chap- 
lain were  not  worth  looking  at — and,  in  those 
days,  I  fancy  parsons  were  very  inferior  even  to 
what  they  are  now." 

For    a    few   moments    she    was    unanswered. 

[123] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Fanny  coloured  and  looked  at  Edmund,  but  felt 
too  angry  for  speech ;  and  he  needed  a  little  recol- 
lection before  he  could  say,  "Your  lively  mind 
can  hardly  be  serious  even  on  serious  subjects. 
You  have  given  us  an  amusing  sketch,  and  human 
nature  cannot  say  it  was  not  so.  We  must  all  feel 
at  times  the  difficulty  of  fixing  our  thoughts  as 
we  could  wish ;  but  if  you  are  supposing  it  a  fre- 
quent thing,  that  is  to  say,  a  weakness  grown  into 
a  habit  from  neglect,  what  could  be  expected 
from  the  private  devotions  of  such  persons?  Do 
you  think  the  minds  which  are  suffered,  which  are 
indulged  in  wanderings  in  a  chapel,  would  be 
more  collected  in  a  closet?" 

"Yes,  very  likely.  They  would  have  two 
chances  at  least  in  their  favour.  There  would  be 
less  to  distract  the  attention  from  without,  and  it 
would  not  be  tried  so  long." 

"The  mind  which  does  not  struggle  against 
itself  under  one  circumstance,  would  find  objects 
to  distract  it  in  the  other,  I  believe ;  and  the  influ- 
ence of  the  place  and  of  example  may  often  rouse 
better  feelings  than  are  begun  with.  The  greater 
length  of  the  service,  however,  I  admit  to  be 
sometimes  too  hard  a  stretch  upon  the  mind.  One 
wishes  it  were  not  so;  but  I  have  not  yet  left 
Oxford  long  enough  to  forget  what  chapel 
prayers  are." 

While  this  was  passing,  the  rest  of  the  party 
[124] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

being  scattered  about  the  chapel,  JuHa  called  Mr 
Crawford's  attention  to  her  sister,  by  saying,  "Do 
look  at  Mr  Rush  worth  and  Maria,  standing  side 
by  side,  exactly  as  if  the  ceremony  were  going  to 
be  performed.  Have  not  they  completely  the 
air  of  it?" 

Mr  Crawford  smiled  his  acquiescence,  and 
stepping  forward  to  JNIaria,  said,  in  a  voice  which 
she  only  could  hear,  "I  do  not  like  to  see  Miss 
Bertram  so  near  the  altar." 

Starting,  the  lady  instinctively  moved  a  step  or 
two,  but  recovering  herself  in  a  moment,  affected 
to  laugh,  and  asked  him,  in  a  tone  not  much 
louder,  "If  he  would  give  her  away?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  should  do  it  very  awkwardly," 
was  his  reply,  with  a  look  of  meaning. 

Julia,  joining  them  at  the  moment,  carried  on 
the  joke. 

"Upon  my  word,  it  is  really  a  pity  that  it  should 
not  take  place  directly,  if  we  had  but  a  proper 
license,  for  here  we  are  altogether,  and  nothing 
in  the  world  could  be  more  snug  and  pleasant." 
And  she  talked  and  laughed  about  it  with  so  little 
caution,  as  to  catch  the  comprehension  of  Mr 
Rushworth  and  his  mother,  and  expose  her  sister 
to  the  whispered  gallantries  of  her  lover,  while 
Mrs  Rushworth  spoke  with  proper  smiles  and 
dignity  of  its  being  a  most  happy  event  to  her 
whenever  it  took  place. 

[125] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"If  Edmund  were  but  in  orders!"  cried  Julia, 
and  running  to  where  he  stood  with  Miss  Craw- 
ford and  Fanny:  "My  dear  Edmund,  if  you 
were  but  in  orders  now,  you  might  perform  the 
ceremony  directly.  How  unlucky  that  you  are 
not  ordained ;  JNIr  Rushworth  and  IMaria  are  quite 
ready." 

Miss  Crawford's  countenance,  as  Julia  spoke, 
might  have  amused  a  disinterested  observer.  She 
looked  almost  aghast  under  the  new  idea  she  was 
receiving.  Fanny  pitied  her.  "How  distressed 
she  will  be  at  what  she  said  just  now,"  passed 
across  her  mind. 

"Ordained!"  said  Miss  Crawford;  "what,  are 
you  to  be  a  clergyman?" 

"Yes ;  I  shall  take  orders  soon  after  my  father's 
return;  probably  at  Christmas." 

Miss  Crawford  rallying  her  spirits,  and  recov- 
ering her  complexion,  replied  only,  "If  I  had 
known  this  before,  I  would  have  spoken  of  the 
cloth  with  more  respect,"  and  turned  the  subject. 

The  chapel  was  soon  afterwards  left  to  the  si- 
lence and  stillness  which  reigned  in  it,  with  few 
interruptions,  throughout  the  year.  INIiss  Ber- 
tram, displeased  with  her  sister,  led  the  way,  and 
all  seemed  to  feel  that  they  had  been  there  long 
enough. 

The  lower  part  of  the  house  had  been  now  en- 
tirely shown,  and  Mrs  Rushworth,  never  weary  in 
[126] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

the  cause,  would  have  proceeded  towards  the 
principal  staircase,  and  taken  them  through  all 
the  rooms  above,  if  her  son  had  not  interposed 
with  a  doubt  of  there  being  time  enough.  "For 
if,"  said  he,  with  the  sort  of  self-evident  proposi- 
tion which  many  a  clearer  head  does  not  always 
avoid,  "we  are  too  long  going  over  the  house,  we 
shall  not  have  time  for  what  is  to  be  done  out  of 
doors.    It  is  past  two,  and  we  are  to  dine  at  five." 

Mrs  Rushworth  submitted;  and  the  question  of 
surveying  the  grounds  with  the  who  and  the  how 
was  likely  to  be  more  fully  agitated,  and  Mrs 
Norris  was  beginning  to  arrange  by  what  junc- 
tion of  carriages  and  horses  most  could  be  done, 
when  the  young  people,  meeting  with  an  out- 
ward door,  temptingly  open  on  a  flight  of  steps 
which  led  immediately  to  turf  and  shrubs,  and  all 
the  sweets  of  pleasure-grounds,  as  by  one  im- 
pulse, one  wish  for  air  and  liberty,  all  walked  out. 

"Suppose  we  turn  down  here  for  the  present," 
said  Mrs  Rushworth,  civilly  taking  the  hint  and 
following  them.  "Here  are  the  greatest  number 
of  our  plants,  and  here  are  the  curious  pheas- 
ants." 

"Query,"  said  Mr  Crawford,  looking  round 
him,  "whether  we  may  not  find  something  to  em- 
ploy us  here,  before  we  go  farther?  I  see  walls 
of  great  promise.  IMr  Rushworth,  shall  we  sum- 
mon a  council  on  this  lawn?" 

[127] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"James,"  said  Mrs  Rushworth  to  her  son,  "I 
believe  the  wilderness  will  be  new  to  all  the  party. 
The  Miss  Bertrams  have  never  seen  the  wilder- 
ness yet." 

No  objection  was  made,  but  for  some  time 
there  seemed  no  inclination  to  move  in  any  plan, 
or  to  any  distance.  All  were  attracted  at  first  by 
the  plants  or  the  pheasants,  and  all  dispersed 
about  in  happy  independence.  Mr  Crawford 
was  the  first  to  move  forward,  to  examine  the 
capabilities  of  that  end  of  the  house.  The  lawn, 
bounded  on  each  side  by  a  high  wall,  contained 
beyond  the  first  planted  area  a  bowling-green, 
and  beyond  the  bowling-green  a  long  terrace 
walk,  backed  by  iron  palisades,  and  commanding 
a  view  over  them  into  the  tops  of  the  trees  of  the 
wilderness  immediately  adjoining.  It  was  a 
good  spot  for  fault-finding.  Mr  Crawford  was 
soon  followed  by  Miss  Bertram  and  Mr  Rush- 
worth;  and  when,  after  a  little  time,  the  others 
began  to  form  into  parties,  these  three  were  found 
in  busy  consultation  on  the  terrace  by  Edmund, 
Miss  Crawford,  and  Fanny,  who  seemed  as  nat- 
urally to  unite,  and  who,  after  a  short  participa- 
tion of  their  regrets  and  difficulties,  left  them  and 
walked  on.  The  remaining  three,  Mrs  Rush- 
worth,  Mrs  Norris,  and  Julia,  were  still  far 
behind;  for  Julia,  whose  happy  star  no  longer 
prevailed,  was  obliged  to  keep  by  the  side  of  Mrs  | 
[128] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Rushworth,  and  restrain  her  impatient  feet  to 
that  lady's  slow  pace,  while  her  aunt,  having 
fallen  in  with  the  housekeeper,  who  was  come  out 
to  feed  the  pheasants,  was  lingering  behind  in 
gossip  with  her.  Poor  Julia,  the  only  one  out  of 
the  nine  not  tolerably  satisfied  with  their  lot,  was 
now  in  a  state  of  complete  penance,  and  as  differ- 
ent from  the  Julia  of  the  barouche-box  as  could 
well  be  imagined.  The  politeness  which  she 
had  been  brought  up  to  practise  as  a  duty  made 
it  impossible  for  her  to  escape ;  while  the  want  of 
that  higher  species  of  self-command,  that  just 
consideration  of  others,  that  knowledge  of  her 
own  heart,  that  principle  of  her  education,  made 
her  miserable  under  it. 

"This  is  insufferably  hot,"  said  Miss  Crawford, 
when  they  had  taken  one  turn  on  the  terrace,  and 
were  drawing  a  second  time  to  the  door  in  the 
middle  which  opened  to  the  wilderness.  "Shall 
any  of  us  object  to  being  comfortable?  Here 
is  a  nice  little  wood,  if  one  can  but  get  into  it. 
What  happiness  if  the  door  should  not  be  locked! 
but  of  course  it  is;  for  in  these  great  places  the 
gardeners  are  the  only  people  who  can  go  where 
they  like." 

The  door,  however,  proved  not  to  be  locked, 
and  they  were  all  agreed  in  turning  joyfully 
through  it,  and  leaving  the  unmitigated  glare  of 
day  behind.    A  considerable  flight  of  steps  landed 

[129] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

them  in  the  wilderness,  which  was  a  planted  wood 
of  about  two  acres,  and  though  chiefly  of  larch 
and  laurel,  and  beech  cut  down,  and  though  laid 
out  with  too  much  regularity,  was  darkness  and 
shade,  and  natural  beauty,  compared  with  the 
bowling-green  and  the  terrace.  They  all  felt  the 
refreshment  of  it,  and  for  some  time  could  only 
walk  and  admire.  At  length,  after  a  short  pause. 
Miss  Crawford  began  with,  "So  you  are  to  be  a 
clergyman,  Mr  Bertram.  This  is  rather  a  sur- 
prise to  me." 

"Why  should  it  surprise  you?  You  must  sup- 
pose me  designed  for  some  profession,  and  might 
perceive  that  I  am  neither  a  lawyer,  nor  a  soldier, 
nor  a  sailor." 

"Very  true ;  but,  in  short,  it  had  not  occurred  to 
me.  And  you  know  there  is  generally  an  uncle 
or  a  grandfather  to  leave  a  fortune  to  the  second 
son." 

"A  very  praiseworthy  practice,"  said  Edmund, 
"but  not  quite  universal.  I  am  one  of  the  excep- 
tions, and  being  one,  must  do  something  for 
myself." 

"But  why  are  you  to  be  clergyman  ?  I  thought 
that  was  always  the  lot  of  the  youngest,  where 
there  were  many  to  choose  before  him." 

"Do  you  think  the  church  itself  never  chosen, 
then?" 

''Never  is  a  black  word.  But  yes,  in  the  never 
[130] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

of  conversation,  which  means  not  very  often,  I 
do  think  it.  For  what  is  to  be  done  in  the  church  ? 
Men  love  to  distinguish  themselves,  and  in  either 
of  the  other  lines  distinction  may  be  gained,  but 
not  in  the  church.    A  clergyman  is  nothing." 

"The  nothing  of  conversation  has  its  grada- 
tions, I  hope,  as  well  as  the  never.  A  clergyman 
cannot  be  high  in  state  or  fashion.  He  must  not 
head  mobs,  or  set  the  ton  in  dress.  But  I  cannot 
call  that  situation  nothing  which  has  the  charge 
of  all  that  is  of  the  first  importance  to  mankind, 
individually  or  collectively  considered,  tempor- 
ally and  eternally,  which  has  the  guardianship  of 
religion  and  morals,  and  consequently  of  the 
manners  which  result  from  their  influence.  No 
one  here  can  call  the  office  nothing.  If  the  man 
who  holds  it  is  so,  it  is  by  the  neglect  of  his  duty, 
by  foregoing  its  just  importance,  and  stepping 
out  of  his  place  to  appear  what  he  ought  not  to 
appear." 

''You  assign  greater  consequence  to  the  clergy- 
man than  one  has  been  used  to  hear  given,  or  than 
I  can  quite  comprehend.  One  does  not  see  much 
of  this  influence  and  importance  in  society,  and 
how  can  it  be  acquired  where  they  are  so  seldom 
seen  themselves?  How  can  two  sermons  a  week, 
even  supposing  them  worth  hearing,  supposing 
the  preacher  to  have  the  sense  to  prefer  Blair's  to 
his  own,  do  all  that  you  speak  of?  govern  the  con- 

[131] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

duct  and  fashion  the  manners  of  a  large  congre- 
gation for  the  rest  of  the  week?  One  scarcely 
sees  a  clergyman  out  of  his  pulpit." 

''You  are  speaking  of  London,  /  am  speaking 
of  the  nation  at  large." 

"The  metropolis,  I  imagine,  is  a  pretty  fair 
sample  of  the  rest." 

"Not,  I  should  hope,  of  the  proportion  of  vir- 
tue to  vice  throughout  the  kingdom.  We  do  not 
look  in  great  cities  for  our  best  morality.  It  is 
not  there  that  respectable  people  of  any  denomi- 
nation can  do  most  good;  and  it  certainly  is  not 
there  that  the  influence  of  the  clergy  can  be  most 
felt.  A  fine  preacher  is  followed  and  admired; 
but  it  is  not  in  fine  preaching  only  that  a  good 
clergyman  will  be  useful  in  his  parish  and  his 
neighbourhood,  where  the  parish  and  neighbour- 
hood are  of  a  size  capable  of  knowing  his  private 
character,  and  observing  his  general  conduct, 
which  in  London  can  rarely  be  the  case.  The 
clergy  are  lost  there  in  the  crowds  of  their  par- 
ishioners. They  are  known  to  the  largest  part 
only  as  preachers.  And  with  regard  to  their  in- 
fluencing public  manners.  Miss  Crawford  must 
not  misunderstand  me,  or  suppose  I  mean  to  call 
them  the  arbiters  of  good  breeding,  the  regu- 
lators of  refinement  and  courtesy,  the  masters  of 
the  ceremonies  of  life.  The  manners  I  speak  of 
might  rather  be  called  conduct,  perhaps,  the  re- 
[132] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

suit  of  good  principles;  the  effect,  in  short,  of 
those  doctrines  which  it  is  their  duty  to  teach  and 
recommend ;  and  it  will,  I  believe,  be  everywhere 
found,  that  as  the  clergy  are,  or  are  not  what  they 
ought  to  be,  so  are  the  rest  of  the  nation." 

"Certainly,"  said  Fanny,  with  gentle  earnest- 
ness. 

"There,"  cried  Miss  Crawford,  "you  have  quite 
convinced  JNIiss  Price  already." 

"I  wish  I  could  convince  Miss  Crawford  too." 

"I  do  not  think  you  ever  wall,"  said  she,  with 
an  arch  smile;  "I  am  just  as  much  surprised  now 
as  I  was  at  first  that  you  should  intend  to  take 
orders.  You  really  are  fit  for  something  better. 
Come,  do  change  j'^our  mind.  It  is  not  too  late. 
Go  into  the  law." 

"Go  into  the  law!  With  as  much  ease  as  I  was 
told  to  go  into  this  wilderness." 

"Now  you  are  going  to  say  something  about 
law  being  the  worst  wilderness  of  the  two,  but  I 
forestall  j^ou;  remember,  I  have  forestalled  you." 

"You  need  not  hurry  when  the  object  is  only 
to  prevent  my  saying  a  bon-mot,  for  there  is  not 
the  least  wit  in  my  nature.  I  am  a  very  matter- 
of-fact,  plain-spoken  being,  and  may  blunder  on 
the  borders  of  a  repartee  for  half-an-hour  to- 
gether without  striking  it  out." 

A  general  silence  succeeded.  Each  was 
thoughtful.     Fanny  made  the  first  interruption 

[133] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

by  saying,  "I  wonder  that  I  should  be  tired  with 
only  walking  in  this  sweet  wood;  but  the  next 
time  we  come  to  a  seat,  if  it  is  not  disagreeable  to 
you,  I  should  be  glad  to  sit  down  for  a  little 
while." 

"My  dear  Fanny,"  cried  Edmund,  immedi- 
ately drawing  her  arm  within  his,  "how  thought- 
less I  have  been !  I  hope  you  are  not  very  tired. 
Perhaps,"  turning  to  JNIiss  Crawford,  "my  other 
companion  may  do  me  the  honour  of  taking  an 
arm." 

"Thank  you,  but  I  am  not  at  all  tired."  She 
took  it,  however,  as  she  spoke,  and  the  gratifica- 
tion of  having  her  do  so,  of  feeling  such  a  con- 
nection for  the  first  time,  made  him  a  little  for- 
getful of  Fanny.  "You  scarcely  touch  me,"  said 
he.  "You  do  not  make  me  of  any  use.  What  a 
difference  in  the  weight  of  woman's  arm  from 
that  of  a  man!  At  Oxford  I  have  been  a  good 
deal  used  to  have  a  man  lean  on  me  for  the  length 
of  a  street,  and  you  are  only  a  fly  in  the  compari- 
son." 

"I  am  really  not  tired,  which  I  almost  wonder 
at ;  for  we  must  have  walked  at  least  a  mile  in  this 
wood.    Do  not  you  think  we  have?" 

"Not  half  a  mile,"  was  his  sturdy  answer:  for 
he  was  not  yet  so  much  in  love  as  to  measure  dis- 
tance, or  reckon  time,  with  feminine  lawlessness. 

"Oh!  you  do  not  consider  how  much  we  have 
[134] 


J 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

wound  about.  We  have  taken  such  a  very  ser- 
pentine course,  and  the  wood  itself  must  be  half 
a  mile  long  in  a  straight  line,  for  we  have  never 
seen  the  end  of  it  yet  since  we  left  the  first  great 
path." 

"But  if  you  remember,  before  we  left  that  first 
great  path,  we  saw  directly  to  the  end  of  it.  We 
looked  down  the  whole  vista,  and  saw  it  closed  by 
iron  gates,  and  it  could  not  have  been  more  than 
a  furlong  in  length." 

"Oh !  I  know  nothing  of  your  furlongs,  but  I 
am  sure  it  is  a  very  long  wood,  and  that  we  have 
been  winding  in  and  out  ever  since  we  came  into 
it;  and,  therefore,  when  I  say  that  we  have  walked 
a  mile  in  it,  I  must  speak  within  compass." 

"We  have  been  exactly  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
here,"  said  Edmund,  taking  out  his  watch.  "Do 
you  think  we  are  walking  four  miles  an  hour?" 

"Oh!  do  not  attack  me  with  your  watch.  A 
watch  is  always  too  fast  or  too  slow.  I  cannot 
be  dictated  to  by  a  watch." 

A  few  steps  farther  brought  them  out  at  the 
bottom  of  the  very  walk  they  had  been  talking 
of;  and  standing  back,  well  shaded  and  sheltered, 
and  looking  over  a  ha-ha  into  the  park,  was  a 
comfortable-sized  bench  on  which  they  all  sat 
down. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  very  tired,  Fanny,"  said 
Edmund,  observing  her;  "why  ^vould  not  you 

[135] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

speak  sooner?  This  will  be  a  bad  day's  amuse- 
ment for  you  if  j^ou  are  to  be  knocked  up.  Every 
sort  of  exercise  fatigues  her  so  soon,  Miss  Craw- 
ford, except  riding." 

"How  abominable  in  you,  then,  to  let  me  en- 
gross her  horse  as  I  did  all  last  week!  I  am 
ashamed  of  you  and  of  myself,  but  it  shall  never 
happen  again." 

''Your  attentiveness  and  consideration  makes 
me  more  sensible  of  my  own  neglect.  Fanny's 
interest  seems  in  safer  hands  with  you  than  with 
me." 

"That  she  should  be  tired  now,  however,  gives 
me  no  surprise ;  for  there  is  nothing  in  the  course 
of  one's  duties  so  fatiguing  as  what  we  have  been 
doing  this  morning:  seeing  a  great  house,  dawd- 
ling from  one  room  to  another,  straining  one's 
eyes  and  one's  attention,  hearing  what  one  does 
not  understand,  admiring  what  one  does  not  care 
for.  It  is  generally  allowed  to  be  the  greatest  bore 
in  the  world,  and  Miss  Price  has  found  it  so, 
though  she  did  not  know  it." 

"I  shall  soon  be  rested,"  said  Fanny;  "to  sit  in 
the  shade  on  a  fine  day,  and  look  upon  verdure,  is 
the  most  perfect  refreshment." 

After  sitting  a  little  while.  Miss  Crawford  was 

up   again.      "I   must  move,"   said    she,   resting 

fatigues  me.    I  have  looked  across  the  ha-ha  till 

I  am  weary.    I  must  go  and  look  through  that 

[136] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

iron  gate  at  the  same  view,  without  being  able  to 
see  it  so  well." 

Edmund  left  the  seat  likewise.  "Now,  Miss 
Crawford,  if  you  will  look  up  the  walk,  you  wdll 
convince  yourself  that  it  cannot  be  half  a  mile 
long,  or  half  half  a  mile." 

"It  is  an  immense  distance,"  said  she;  "I  see 
that  with  a  glance." 

He  still  reasoned  with  her,  but  in  vain.  She 
would  not  calculate,  she  would  not  compare.  She 
would  only  smile  and  assert.  The  greatest  degree 
of  rational  consistency  could  not  have  been  more 
engaging,  and  they  talked  with  mutual  satisfac- 
tion. At  last  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  en- 
deavour to  determine  the  dimensions  of  the  wood 
by  walking  a  little  more  about  it.  They  would  go 
to  one  end  of  it,  in  the  line  they  were  then  in  ( for 
there  was  a  straight  green  walk  along  the  bottom 
by  the  side  of  the  ha-ha) ,  and  perhaps  turn  a  little 
way  in  some  other  direction,  if  it  seemed  likely  to 
assist  them,  and  be  back  in  a  few  minutes.  Fanny 
said  she  was  rested,  and  would  have  moved  too, 
but  this  was  not  suffered.  Edmund  urged  her 
remaining  where  she  was  with  an  earnestness 
which  she  could  not  resist,  and  she  was  left  on  the 
bench  to  think  with  pleasure  of  her  cousin's  care, 
but  with  great  regret  that  she  was  not  stronger. 
She  watched  them  till  they  had  turned  the  corner, 
and  listened  till  all  sound  of  them  had  ceased. 

[137] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 


CHAPTER  X 

A  QUARTER  of  an  hour,  twenty  minutes, 
passed  away,  and  Fanny  was  still  think- 
ing of  Edmund,  Miss  Crawford,  and 
herself,  without  interruption  from  any  one.  She 
began  to  be  surprised  at  being  left  so  long,  and  to 
listen  with  an  anxious  desire  of  hearing  their  steps 
and  their  voices  again.  She  listened,  and  at 
length  she  heard;  she  heard  voices  and  feet  ap- 
proaching; but  she  had  just  satisfied  herself  that 
it  was  not  those  she  wanted,  when  Miss  Bertram, 
Mr  Rushworth,  and  Mr  Crawford,  issued  from 
the  same  path  which  she  had  trod  herself,  and 
were  before  her. 

"Miss  Price  all  alone!"  and  "my  dear  Fanny, 
how  comes  this?"  were  the  first  salutations.  She 
told  her  story.  "Poor  dear  Fanny,"  cried  her 
cousin,  "how  ill  you  have  been  used  by  them! 
You  had  better  have  staid  with  us." 

Then  seating  herself  with  a  gentleman  on  each 
side,  she  resumed  the  conversation  which  had  en- 
gaged them  before,  and  discussed  the  possibility 
of  improvements  with  much  animation.  Nothing 
was  fixed  on;  but  Henry  Crawford  was  full  of 
ideas  and  projects,  and,  generally  speaking, 
whatever  he  proposed  was  immediately  approved, 
first  by  her,  and  then  by  Mr  Rushworth,  whose 
[138] 


MAN.v 

principal  business 
and  who  scarcelv 
his  o^Ti  b* 
friend  Sm 
After  su 
Bertram,  obst: 
>vish  of  passing  ' 

'    ir  views  an  ' 
i/i\ iiensive.     It  .< 
to  be  wished,  it  w  • 
of  proceeding' 
Crawford's  oj^ 
not  half 
the  reqi..  . 
fore  they  miis 
gate;  but  the 
wished  he  had 

N.ir  thinking 
'  fv;  he  was  (i 

hout  the  key  a 
move  the  present  e^ 
n ;  and  as  ** ' 

and  fetch  the  key.   II 
"It  is  undoubted 

V.  as  wr     - 

Miss  Price  all  alone!     :^un       \\y  dvav  rami},  how  comes 
^^  f^.  t^iis??' weK4he'f?*st,.sal\itatioBs»  he   «{(>n/         i\\i* 


MAJNislli^LD    PARK 


CHAPTER  X 

A   QUARTER  of  an  hour,  twenty  minutes, 
passed  away,  and  Fanny  was  still  think- 
of  Edmund,  Miss  Crawford,  an(i 

(KM-.;!  ■'    "^ ,..^;....  r ri  any  one.    She 

began  to  .  so  long,  and  to 

listen  with  a  s  desire  of  hearing  their  steps 

and  She  listened,   and  at 

'       '     s  and  feet  ap 
j,.w.,  .  .V.,.  had  herself  that 

it  w?  u  when  Miss  Bertram, 

Mr  '  rth,  and  Mr  Crawford,  issued  from 

t^  path  which  she  had  trod  herself,  and 

!]  nlonel"  and  "my  dear  Fanny, 

)'  re  the  first  salutations.    She 

'oor  dear  Fanny,"  cried  her 

(  '  '     n  used  by  them! 

«  V .    - .  1 1 1  us. 

Ti  with  a  gentleman  on  each 

side,  she  resumed  the  conversation  which  had  en- 
gaged them  before,  and  discussed  the  possibility 
c '       •  ■ '  vements  with  muc^     -        *ion.    Nothing 

V  I  on :  but  Henry  •, 'd  was  full  of 

ideas   and    ;  ;.    and.    srenerally    speaking, 

:.  'MF^ved, 

firit  uj  iiei,  anci„;4*i;^„,^)^«AM.iii4+**i'^''yi«rth,,  whose 

r  ^  OQ  T 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

principal  business  seemed  to  be  to  hear  the  others, 
and  who  scarcely  risked  an  original  thought  of 
his  own  beyond  a  wish  that  they  had  seen  his 
friend  Smith's  place. 

After  some  minutes  spent  in  this  way,  Miss 
Bertram,  observing  the  iron  gate,  expressed  a 
wish  of  passing  through  it  into  the  park,  that 
their  views  and  their  plans  might  be  more  com- 
prehensive. It  was  the  very  thing  of  all  others 
to  be  wished,  it  was  the  best,  it  was  the  only  way 
of  proceeding  with  any  advantage,  in  Henry 
Crawford's  opinion,  and  he  directly  saw  a  knoll 
not  half  a  mile  off,  which  would  give  them  exactly 
the  requisite  command  of  the  house.  Go  there- 
fore they  must  to  that  knoll,  and  through  that 
gate;  but  the  gate  was  locked.  ]Mr  Rushworth 
wished  he  had  brought  the  key ;  he  had  been  very 
near  thinking  whether  he  should  not  bring  the 
key;  he  was  determined  he  would  never  come 
without  the  key  again;  but  still  this  did  not  re- 
move the  present  evil.  They  could  not  get 
through;  and  as  Miss  Bertram's  inclination  for 
so  doing  did  by  no  means  lessen,  it  ended  in  Mr 
Rushworth's  declaring  outright  that  he  would  go 
and  fetch  the  key.   He  set  off  accordingly. 

"It  is  undoubtedly  the  best  thing  we  can  do 
now,  as  we  are  so  far  from  the  house  already," 
said  Mr  Crawford,  when  he  was  gone. 

"Yes,  there  is  nothing  else  to  be  done.     But 

[139] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

now,  sincerely,  do  not  you  find  the  place  alto- 
gether worse  than  you  expected?" 

"No,  indeed,  far  otherwise.  I  find  it  better, 
grander,  more  complete  in  its  style,  though  that 
style  may  not  be  the  best.  And  to  tell  you  the 
truth,"  speaking  rather  lower,  "I  do  not  think 
that  /  shall  ever  see  Sotherton  again  with  so  much 
pleasure  as  I  do  now.  Another  summer  will 
hardly  improve  it  to  me." 

After  a  moment's  embarrassment  the  lady  re- 
plied, "You  are  too  much  a  man  of  the  world  not 
to  see  with  the  eyes  of  the  world.  If  other  people 
think  Sotherton  improved,  I  have  no  doubt  that 
you  will." 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  not  quite  so  much  the  man 
of  the  world  as  might  be  good  for  me  in  some 
points.  My  feelings  are  not  quite  so  evanescent, 
nor  my  memory  of  the  past  under  such  easy  do- 
minion as  one  finds  to  be  the  case  with  men  of 
the  world." 

This  was  followed  by  a  short  silence.  Miss 
Bertram  began  again.  "You  seemed  to  enjoy 
your  drive  here  very  much  this  morning.  I  was 
glad  to  see  you  so  well  entertained.  You  and 
Julia  were  laughing  the  whole  way." 

"Were  we?  Yes,  I  believe  we  were;  but  I  have 
not  the  least  recollection  at  what.  Oh!  I  believe 
I  was  relating  to  her  some  ridiculous  stories  of  an 
old  Irish  groom  of  my  uncle's.  Your  sister  loves 
to  laugh." 
[140] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"You  think  her  more  Hght-hearted  than  I  am." 

"More  easily  amused,"  he  repHed,  "conse- 
quently, you  know,"  smiling,  "better  company.  I 
could  not  have  hoped  to  entertain  you  with  Irish 
anecdotes  during  a  ten  miles'  drive." 

"Naturally,  I  believe,  I  am  as  lively  as  Julia, 
but  I  have  more  to  think  of  now." 

"You  have,  undoubtedly;  and  there  are  situa- 
tions in  which  very  high  spirits  would  denote  in- 
sensibility. Your  prospects,  however,  are  too 
fair  to  justify  want  of  spirits.  You  have  a  very 
smiling  scene  before  you." 

"Do  you  mean  literally  or  figuratively?  Liter- 
ally, I  conclude.  Yes,  certainly  the  sun  shines, 
and  the  park  looks  very  cheerful.  But  unluckily 
that  iron  gate,  that  ha-ha,  give  me  a  feeling  of 
restraint  and  hardship.  'I  cannot  get  out,'  as  the 
starling  said."  As  she  spoke,  and  it  was  with 
expression,  she  walked  to  the  gate:  he  followed 
her.  "Mr  Rush  worth  is  so  long  fetching  this 
key!" 

"And  for  the  world  you  would  not  get  out 
without  the  key  and  without  Mr  Rushworth's  au- 
thority and  protection,  or  I  think  you  might  with 
little  difficulty  pass  round  the  edge  of  the  gate, 
here,  with  my  assistance ;  I  think  it  might  be  done, 
if  you  really  wished  to  be  more  at  large,  and  could 
allow  yourself  to  think  it  not  prohibited." 

"Prohibited !  nonsense !    I  certainly  can  get  out 

[141] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

that  way,  and  I  will.  jNIr  Rushworth  will  be  here 
in  a  moment,  you  know;  we  shall  not  be  out  of 
sight." 

"Or  if  we  are,  INIiss  Price  will  be  so  good  as  to 
tell  him,  that  he  will  find  us  near  that  knoll:  the 
grove  of  oak  on  the  knoll." 

Fanny,  feeling  all  this  to  be  wrong,  could  not 
help  making  an  effort  to  prevent  it.  "You  will 
hurt  yourself,  Miss  Bertram,"  she  cried,  "you  will 
certainly  hurt  yourself  against  those  spikes;  you 
will  tear  your  gown;  you  will  be  in  danger  of 
slipping  into  the  ha-ha.    You  had  better  not  go." 

Her  cousin  was  safe  on  the  other  side,  while 
these  words  were  spoken,  and,  smiling  with  all 
the  good  humour  of  success,  she  said,  "Thank 
you,  my  dear  Fanny,  but  I  and  my  gown  are  alive 
and  well,  and  so  good-bye." 

Fanny  was  again  left  to  her  solitude,  and  with 
no  increase  of  pleasant  feelings,  for  she  was 
sorry  for  almost  all  that  she  had  seen  and  heard, 
astonished  at  INIiss  Bertram,  and  angry  with  Mr 
Crawford.  By  taking  a  circuitous  route,  and,  as 
it  appeared  to  her,  very  unreasonable  direction 
to  the  knoll,  they  were  soon  beyond  her  eye ;  and 
for  some  minutes  longer  she  remained  without 
sight  or  sound  of  any  companion.  She  seemed 
to  have  the  little  wood  all  to  herself.  She  could 
almost  have  thought  that  Edmund  and  Miss 
Crawford  had  left  it,  but  that  It  was  impossible 
for  Edmund  to  forget  her  so  entirely. 
[142] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

She  was  again  roused  from  disagreeable 
musings  by  sudden  footsteps :  somebody  was  com- 
ing at  a  quick  pace  down  the  principal  walk.  She 
expected  jMr  Rushworth,  but  it  was  Julia,  who, 
hot  and  out  of  breath,  and  with  a  look  of  disap- 
pointment, cried  out  on  seeing  her,  "Heyday! 
AVhere  are  the  others?  I  thought  Maria  and  Mr 
Crawford  were  with  you." 

Fanny  explained. 

"A  pretty  trick,  upon  my  word!  I  cannot  see 
them  anywhere,"  looking  eagerly  into  the  park. 
"But  they  cannot  be  very  far  off,  and  I  think  I 
am  equal  to  as  much  as  Maria,  even  without 
help." 

"But,  Julia,  INIr  Rushworth  will  be  here  in  a 
moment  with  the  key.  Do  wait  for  Mr  Rush- 
worth." 

"Not  I,  indeed.  I  have  had  enough  of  the 
family  for  one  morning.  Why,  child,  I  have  but 
this  moment  escaped  from  his  horrible  mother. 
Such  a  penance  as  I  have  been  enduring,  while 
you  were  sitting  here  so  composed  and  so  happy ! 
It  might  have  been  as  well,  perhaps,  if  you  had 
been  in  my  place,  but  you  always  contrive  to  keep 
out  of  these  scrapes." 

This  was  a  most  unjust  reflection,  but  Fanny 
could  allow  for  it,  and  let  it  pass :  Julia  was  vexed, 
and  her  temper  was  hasty;  but  she  felt  that  it 
would  not  last,  and  therefore  taking  no  notice, 
only  asked  her  if  she  had  not  seen  Mr  Rushworth. 

[143] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

"Yes,  yes,  we  saw  him.  He  was  posting  away 
as  if  upon  life  and  death,  and  could  but  just 
spare  time  to  tell  us  his  errand,  and  where  you  all 
were." 

"It  is  a  pity  he  should  have  so  much  trouble  for 
nothing." 

''That  is  Miss  Maria's  concern.  I  am  not 
obliged  to  punish  myself  for  her  sins.  The 
mother  I  could  not  avoid,  as  long  as  my  tiresome 
aunt  was  dancing  about  with  the  housekeeper, 
but  the  son  I  can  get  away  from." 

And  she  immediately  scrambled  across  the 
fence,  and  walked  away,  not  attending  to 
Fanny's  last  question  of  whether  she  had  seen 
anything  of  Miss  Crawford  and  Edmund.  The 
sort  of  dread  in  which  Fanny  now  sat  of  seeing 
Mr  Rushworth,  prevented  her  thinking  so  much 
of  their  continued  absence,  however,  as  she  might 
have  done.  She  felt  that  he  had  been  very  ill 
used,  and  was  quite  unhappy  in  having  to  com- 
municate what  had  passed.  He  joined  her  within 
five  minutes  after  Julia's  exit;  and  though  she 
made  the  best  of  the  story,  he  was  evidently  mor- 
tified and  displeased  in  no  common  degree.  At 
first  he  scarcely  said  anything;  his  looks  only  ex- 
pressed his  extreme  surprise  and  vexation,  and  he 
walked  to  the  gate  and  stood  there,  without  seem- 
ing to  know  what  to  do. 

"They  desired  me  to  stay;  my  cousin  Maria 
[144] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

charged  me  to  say  that  you  would  find  them  at 
that  knoll,  or  thereabouts." 

"I  do  not  believe  I  shall  go  any  further,"  said 
he,  sullenly;  "I  see  nothing  of  them.  By  the  time 
I  get  to  the  knoll,  they  may  be  gone  somewhere 
else.    I  have  had  walking  enough." 

And  he  sat  down  with  a  most  gloomy  counten- 
ance by  Fanny. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  she;  "it  is  very  im- 
lucky."  And  she  longed  to  be  able  to  say  some- 
thing more  to  the  purpose. 

After  an  interval  of  silence,  "I  think  they 
might  as  well  have  staid  for  me,"  said  he. 

"JSIiss  Bertram  thought  you  would  follow  her." 

"I  should  not  have  had  to  follow  her  if  she  had 
staid." 

This  could  not  be  denied,  and  Fanny  was  si- 
lenced. After  another  pause,  he  went  on: — 
"Pray,  Miss  Price,  are  you  such  a  great  admirer 
of  this  Mr  Crawford  as  some  people  are?  For 
my  part,  I  can  see  nothing  in  him." 

"I  do  not  think  him  at  all  handsome." 

"Handsome!  Nobody  can  call  such  an  under- 
sized man  handsome.  He  is  not  five  foot  nine.  I 
should  not  wonder  if  he  was  not  more  than  five 
foot  eight.  I  think  he  is  an  ill-looking  fellow. 
In  my  opinion,  these  Crawf  ords  are  no  addition 
at  all.    We  did  very  well  without  them." 

A  small  sigh  escaped  Fanny  here,  and  she  did 
not  know  how  to  contradict  him. 

[145] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"If  I  had  made  any  difficulty  about  fetching 
the  key,  there  might  have  been  some  excuse,  but 
I  went  the  very  moment  she  said  she  wanted  it." 

"Nothing  could  be  more  obliging  than  your 
manner,  I  am  sure,  and  I  dare  say  you  walked 
as  fast  as  you  could ;  but  still  it  is  some  distance, 
you  know,  from  this  spot  to  the  house,  quite  into 
the  house ;  and  when  people  are  waiting,  they  are 
bad  judges  of  time,  and  every  half  minute  seems 
like  five." 

He  got  up  and  walked  to  the  gate  again,  and 
"wished  he  had  had  the  key  about  him  at  the 
time."  Fanny  thought  she  discerned  in  his  stand- 
ing there  an  indication  of  relenting,  which  en- 
couraged her  to  another  attempt,  and  she  said, 
therefore,  "It  is  a  pity  you  should  not  join  them. 
They  expected  to  have  a  better  view  of  the  house 
from  that  part  of  the  park,  and  will  be  thinking 
how  it  may  be  improved;  and  nothing  of  that 
sort,  you  know,  can  be  settled  without  you." 

She  found  herself  more  successful  in  sending 
away,  than  in  retaining  a  companion.  Mr  Rush- 
worth  was  worked  on.  "Well,"  said  he,  "if  you 
really  think  I  had  better  go:  it  would  be  foolish 
to  bring  the  key  for  nothing."  And  letting  him- 
self out,  he  walked  off  without  further  ceremony. 

Fanny's  thoughts  were  now  all  engrossed  by 
the  two  who  had  left  her  so  long  ago,  and  getting 
quite  impatient,  she  resolved  to  go  in  search  of 
[146] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

them.  She  followed  their  steps  along  the  bottom 
walk,  and  had  just  turned  up  into  another,  when 
the  voice  and  the  laugh  of  Miss  Crawford  once 
more  caught  her  ear;  the  sound  approached,  and 
a  few  more  windings  brought  them  before  her. 
They  were  just  returned  into  the  wilderness  from 
the  park,  to  which  a  side-gate,  not  fastened,  had 
tempted  them  very  soon  after  leaving  her,  and 
they  had  been  across  a  portion  of  the  park  into 
the  very  avenue  which  Fanny  had  been  hoping 
the  whole  morning  to  reach  at  last,  and  had  been 
sitting  down  under  one  of  the  trees.  This  was 
their  history.  It  was  evident  that  they  had  been 
spending  their  time  pleasantly,  and  were  not 
aware  of  the  length  of  their  absence.  Fanny's 
best  consolation  was  in  being  assured  that 
Edmund  had  wished  for  her  very  much,  and  that 
he  should  certainly  have  come  back  for  her,  had 
she  had  not  been  tired  already;  but  this  was  not 
quite  sufficient  to  do  away  with  the  pain  of  having 
been  left  a  whole  hour,  when  he  had  talked  of 
only  a  few  minutes,  nor  to  banish  the  sort  of  cu- 
riosity she  felt,  to  know  what  they  had  been  con- 
versing about  all  that  time ;  and  the  result  of  the 
whole  was  to  her  disappointment  and  depression, 
as  they  prepared  by  general  agreement,  to  return 
to  the  house. 

On  reaching  the  bottom  of  the  steps  to  the 
terrace,  Mrs  Rushworth  and  Mrs  Norris  pre- 

ri47] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

sented  themselves  at  the  top,  just  ready  for  the 
wilderness,  at  the  end  of  an  hour  and  a  half  from 
their  leaving  the  house.  Mrs  Norris  had  been 
too  well  employed  to  move  faster.  Whatever 
cross  accidents  had  occurred  to  intercept  the 
pleasures  of  her  nieces,  she  had  found  a  morning 
of  complete  enjoyment;  for  the  housekeeper, 
after  a  great  many  courtesies  on  the  subject  of 
pheasants,  had  taken  her  to  the  dairy,  told  her  all 
about  their  cows,  and  given  her  the  receipt  for  a 
famous  cream  cheese;  and  since  Julia's  leaving 
them,  they  had  been  met  by  the  gardener,  with 
whom  she  had  made  a  most  satisfactory  acquaint- 
ance, for  she  had  set  him  right  as  to  his  grand- 
son's illness,  convinced  him  that  it  was  an  ague, 
and  promised  him  a  charm  for  it;  and  he,  in  re- 
turn, had  shown  her  all  his  choicest  nursery  of 
plants,  and  actually  presented  her  with  a  very 
curious  specimen  of  heath. 

On  this  rencontre  they  all  returned  to  the  house 
together,  there  to  lounge  away  the  time  as  they 
could  with  sofas,  and  chit-chat,  and  Quarterly 
Reviews,  till  the  return  of  the  others,  and  the 
arrival  of  dinner.  It  was  late  before  the  Miss 
Bertrams  and  the  two  gentlemen  came  in,  and 
their  ramble  did  not  appear  to  be  more  than  par- 
tially agreeable,  or  at  all  productive  of  anything 
useful  with  regard  to  the  object  of  the  day.  By 
their  own  accounts  they  had  been  all  walking 
[148] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

after  each  other,  and  the  junction  which  had 
taken  place  at  last  seemed,  to  Fanny's  observa- 
tion, to  have  been  as  much  too  late  for  re- 
establishing harmony,  as  it  confessedly  had  been 
for  determining  on  anj^  alteration.  She  felt,  as 
she  looked  at  Julia  and  Mr  Rushworth,  that  hers 
was  not  the  only  dissatisfied  bosom  amongst  them ; 
there  was  gloom  on  the  face  of  each.  Mr  Craw- 
ford and  Miss  Bertram  were  much  more  gay,  and 
she  thought  that  he  was  taking  particular  pains, 
during  dinner,  to  do  away  any  little  resentment 
of  the  other  two,  and  restore  general  good 
humour. 

Dinner  was  soon  followed  by  tea  and  coffee,  a 
ten  miles'  drive  home  allowed  no  waste  of  hours ; 
and  from  the  time  of  their  sitting  down  to  table, 
it  was  a  quick  succession  of  busy  nothings  till 
the  carriage  came  to  the  door,  and  Mrs  Norris, 
having  fidgeted  about,  and  obtained  a  few  pheas- 
ants' eggs  and  a  cream  cheese  from  the  house- 
keeper, and  made  abundance  of  civil  speeches  to 
Mrs  Rushworth,  was  ready  to  lead  the  way.  At 
the  same  moment,  JNIr  Crawford,  approaching 
Julia,  said,  "I  hope  I  am  not  to  lose  mj^  com- 
panion, unless  she  is  afraid  of  the  evening  air  in 
so  exposed  a  seat."  The  request  had  not  been 
foreseen,  but  was  very  graciously  received,  and 
Julia's  day  was  likely  to  end  almost  as  well  as  it 
began.    Miss  Bertram  had  made  up  her  mind  to 

[149] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

something  different,  and  was  a  little  disap- 
pointed; but  her  conviction  of  being  really  the 
one  preferred,  comforted  her  under  it,  and  en- 
abled her  to  receive  Mr  Rushworth's  parting  at- 
tentions as  she  ought.  He  was  certainly  better 
pleased  to  hand  her  into  the  barouche  than  to 
assist  her  in  ascending  the  box,  and  his  com- 
placency seemed  confirmed  by  the  arrangement. 

"Well,  Fanny,  this  has  been  a  fine  day  for  you, 
upon  my  word,"  said  Mrs  Norris,  as  they  drove 
through  the  park.  "Nothing  but  pleasure  from 
beginning  to  end !  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  be  very 
much  obliged  to  j^our  aunt  Bertram  and  me,  for 
contriving  to  let  you  go.  A  pretty  good  day's 
am.usement  j^ou  have  had!" 

Maria  was  just  discontented  enough  to  say 
directly,  "I  think  you  have  done  pretty  well 
yourself,  ma'am.  Your  lap  seems  full  of  good 
things,  and  here  is  a  basket  of  something  between 
us,  which  has  been  knocking  my  elbow 
unmercifully." 

"My  dear,  it  is  only  a  beautiful  little  heath, 
which  that  nice  old  gardener  would  make  me 
take;  but  if  it  is  in  your  way,  I  will  have  it  in  my 
lap  directlj^  There,  Fanny,  you  shall  carry  that 
parcel  for  me ;  take  great  care  of  it :  do  not  let  it 
fall;  it  is  a  cream  cheese,  just  like  the  excellent 
one  we  had  at  dinner.  Nothing  would  satisfy 
that  good  old  Mrs  Whitaker,  but  my  taking  one 
[150] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

of  the  cheeses.  I  stood  out  as  long  as  I  could,  till 
the  tears  almost  came  into  her  eyes,  and  I  knew 
it  was  just  the  sort  that  my  sister  would  be  de- 
lighted with.  That  Mrs  Whitaker  is  a  treasure ! 
She  was  quite  shocked  when  I  asked  her  whether 
wine  was  allowed  at  the  second  table,  and  she  has 
turned  away  two  housemaids  for  wearing  white 
gowns.  Take  care  of  the  cheese,  Fanny.  Now  I 
can  manage  the  other  parcel  and  the  basket  very 
well." 

"What  else  have  you  been  spunging?"  said 
Maria,  half  pleased  that  Sotherton  should  be  so 
complimented. 

"Spunging,  my  dear!  It  is  nothing  but  four 
of  those  beautiful  pheasant's  eggs,  which  Mrs 
Whitaker  would  quite  force  upon  me ;  she  would 
not  take  a  denial.  She  said  it  must  be  such  an 
amusement  to  me,  as  she  understood  I  lived  quite 
alone,  to  have  a  few  living  creatures  of  that  sort ; 
and  so  to  be  sure  it  will.  I  shall  get  the  dairymaid 
to  set  them  under  the  first  spare  hen,  and  if  they 
come  to  good  I  can  have  them  moved  to  my  own 
house  and  borrow  a  coop;  and  it  will  be  a  great 
delight  to  me  in  my  lonely  hours  to  attend  to 
them.  And  if  I  have  good  luck,  your  mother 
shall  have  some." 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening,  mild  and  still,  and 
the  drive  was  as  pleasant  as  the  serenity  of 
Nature  could  make  it;  but  when  Mrs  Norris 

[151] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

ceased  speaking,  it  was  altogether  a  silent  drive 
to  those  within.  Their  spirits  were  in  general 
exhausted;  and  to  determine  whether  the  day  had 
afforded  most  pleasure  or  pain,  might  occupy 
the  meditations  of  almost  all. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  day  at  Sotherton,  with  all  its  imperfec- 
tions, afforded  the  Miss  Bertrams  much 
more  agreeable  feelings  than  were  de- 
rived from  the  letters  from  Antiqua,  which  soon 
afterwards  reached  Mansfield.  It  was  much 
pleasanter  to  think  of  Henry  Crawford  than  of 
their  father;  and  to  think  of  their  father  in 
England  again  within  a  certain  period,  which 
these  letters  obliged  them  to  do,  was  a  most 
unwelcome  exercise. 

November  was  the  black  month  fixed  for  his 
return.  Sir  Thomas  wrote  of  it  with  as  much 
decision  as  experience  and  anxiety  could 
authorize.  His  business  was  so  nearly  concluded 
as  to  justify  him  in  proposing  to  take  his  passage 
in  the  September  packet,  and  he  consequently 
looked  forward  with  the  hope  of  being  with  his 
beloved  family  again  early  in  November. 

Maria  was  more  to  be  pitied  than  Julia ;  for  to 
[152] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

her  the  father  brought  a  husband,  and  the  return 
of  the  friend  most  solicitous  for  her  happiness 
would  unite  her  to  the  lover,  on  whom  she  had 
chosen  that  happiness  should  depend.  It  was  a 
gloomy  prospect,  and  all  she  could  do  was  to 
throw  a  mist  over  it,  and  hope  when  the  mist 
cleared  away  she  should  see  something  else.  It 
would  hardly  be  early  in  November,  there  were 
generally  delays,  a  bad  passage  or  something; 
that  favouring  something  which  everybody  who 
shuts  their  eyes  while  they  look,  or  their  under- 
standings while  they  reason,  feels  the  comfort 
of.  It  would  probably  be  the  middle  of 
November  at  least ;  the  middle  of  November  was 
three  months  off.  Three  months  comprised 
thirteen  weeks.  Much  might  happen  in  thirteen 
weeks. 

Sir  Thomas  would  have  been  deeply  mortified 
by  a  suspicion  of  half  that  his  daughters  felt  on 
the  subject  of  his  return,  and  would  hardly  have 
found  consolation  in  a  knowledge  of  the  interest 
it  excited  in  the  breast  of  another  young  lady. 
JNIiss  Crawford,  on  walking  up  with  her  brother 
to  spend  the  evening  at  Mansfield  Park,  heard 
the  good  news;  and  though  seeming  to  have  no 
concern  in  the  affair  beyond  politeness,  and  to 
have  vented  all  her  feelings  in  a  quiet  congratu- 
lation, heard  it  with  an  attention  not  so  easily 
satisfied.     Mrs  Norris  gave  the  particulars  of 

[153] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

the  letters,  and  the  subject  was  dropt;  but  after 
tea,  as  Miss  Crawford  was  standing  at  an  open 
window  with  Edmund  and  Fanny  looking  out  on 
a  twilight  scene,  while  the  Miss  Bertrams,  Mr 
Rushworth,  and  Henry  Crawford  were  all  busy 
with  candles  at  the  piano-forte,  she  suddenly 
revived  it  by  turning  round  towards  the  group, 
and  saying,  "How  happy  Mr  Rushworth  looks! 
He  is  thinking  of  November." 

Edmund  looked  round  at  Mr  Rushworth  too, 
but  had  nothing  to  say.  "Your  father's  return 
will  be  a  very  interesting  event." 

"It  will,  indeed,  after  such  an  absence;  an 
absence  not  only  long,  but  including  so  many 
dangers." 

"It  will  be  the  forerunner  also  of  other  in- 
teresting events ;  your  sister's  marriage,  and  your 
taking  orders." 

"Yes." 

"Don't  be  affronted,"  said  she,  laughing,  "but 
it  does  put  me  in  mind  of  some  of  the  old  heathen 
heroes,  who,  after  performing  great  exploits  in 
a  foreign  land,  offered  sacrifices  to  the  gods  on 
their  safe  return." 

"There  is  no  sacrifice  in  the  case,"  replied 
Edmund,  with  a  serious  smile,  and  glancing  at 
the  piano-forte  again,  "it  is  entirely  her  own 
doing." 

"Oh  yes!  I  know  it  is.    I  was  merely  joking. 
[154] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

She  has  done  no  more  than  what  every  young 
woman  would  do;  and  I  have  no  doubt  of  her 
being  extremely  happy.  My  other  sacrifice  of 
course  you  do  not  understand." 

"My  taking  orders,  I  assure  you,  is  quite  as 
voluntarj'^  as  Maria's  marrying." 

"It  is  fortunate  that  your  inclination  and  your 
father's  convenience  should  accord  so  well. 
There  is  a  very  good  living  kept  for  you,  I  under- 
stand, hereabouts." 

"Which  j^ou  suppose  has  biassed  me?" 

"But  that  I  am  sure  it  has  not,"  cried  Fanny. 

"Thank  you  for  your  good  word,  Fanny,  but 
it  is  more  than  I  would  affirm  myself.  On  the 
contrary,  the  knowing  that  there  was  such  a 
provision  for  me  probably  did  bias  me.  Nor  can 
I  think  it  wrong  that  it  should.  There  was  no 
natural  disinclination  to  be  overcome,  and  I  see 
no  reason  why  a  man  should  make  a  worse  clergy- 
man for  knowing  that  he  will  have  a  competence 
early  in  life.  I  was  in  safe  hands.  I  hope  I 
should  not  have  been  influenced  myself  in  a 
MTong  way,  and  I  am  sure  my  father  was  too 
conscientious  to  have  allowed  it.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  I  was  biassed,  but  I  think  it  was 
blamelessly." 

"It  is  the  same  sort  of  thing,"  said  Fanny, 
after  a  short  pause,  "as  for  the  son  of  an  admiral 
to  go  into  the  navy  or  the  son  of  a  general  to  be 

[155] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

in  the  army,  and  nobody  sees  anything  wrong  in 
that.  Nobody  wonders  that  they  should  prefer 
the  Hne  where  their  friends  can  serve  them  best, 
or  suspects  them  to  be  less  in  earnest  in  it  than 
they  appear." 

"No,  my  dear  Miss  Price,  and  for  reasons 
good.  The  profession,  either  navy  or  army,  is  its 
own  justification.  It  has  everything  in  Its 
favour ;  heroism,  danger,  bustle,  fashion.  Soldiers 
and  sailors  are  always  acceptable  in  society.  No- 
body can  wonder  that  men  are  soldiers  and 
sailors." 

"But  the  motives  of  a  man  who  takes  orders 
with  the  certainty  of  preferment  may  be  fairly 
suspected  you  think?"  said  Edmund.  "To  be 
justified  in  your  eyes,  he  must  do  it  in  the  most 
complete  uncertainty  of  any  provision." 

"What!  take  orders  without  a  living!  No;  that 
is  madness  indeed;  absolute  madness." 

"Shall  I  ask  you  how  the  church  is  to  be  filled, 
if  a  man  is  neither  to  take  orders  with  a  living, 
nor  without?  No;  for  you  certainly  would  not 
know  what  to  say.  But  I  must  beg  some  advan- 
tage to  the  clergyman  from  your  own  argument. 
As  he  cannot  be  influenced  by  those  feelings 
which  you  rank  highly  as  temptation  and  reward 
to  the  soldier  and  sailor,  in  their  choice  of  a  pro- 
fession, as  heroism,  and  noise,  and  fashion,  are  all 
against  him,  he  ought  to  be  less  liable  to  the 
[156] 


1 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

suspicion  of  wanting  sincerity  or  good  intentions 
in  the  choice  of  his." 

"Oh!  no  doubt  he  is  very  sincere  in  preferring 
an  income  ready  made,  to  the  trouble  of  working 
for  one:  and  has  the  best  intentions  of  doing 
nothing  all  the  rest  of  his  days  but  eat,  drink,  and 
grow  fat.  It  is  indolence,  JVIr  Bertram,  indeed. 
Indolence  and  love  of  ease;  a  want  of  all  laudable 
ambition,  of  taste  for  good  company,  or  of  in- 
clination to  take  the  trouble  of  being  agreeable, 
which  make  men  clergymen.  A  clergyman  has 
nothing  to  do  but  be  slovenly  and  selfish ;  read  the 
newspaper,  watch  the  weather,  and  quarrel  with 
his  wife.  His  curate  does  all  the  work,  and  the 
business  of  his  own  life  is  to  dine." 

"There  are  such  clergymen,  no  doubt,  but  I 
think  they  are  not  so  common  as  to  justify  Miss 
"Crawford  in  esteeming  it  their  general  character. 
I  suspect  that  in  this  comprehensive  and  (may  I 
say)  commonplace  censure,  you  are  not  judging 
from  yourself,  but  from  prejudiced  persons, 
whose  opinions  you  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
hearing.  It  is  impossible  that  your  own  obser- 
vation can  have  given  you  much  knowledge  of 
the  clergy.  You  can  have  been  personally  ac- 
quainted with  very  few  of  a  set  of  men  you 
condemn  so  conclusively.  You  are  speaking 
what  you  have  been  told  at  your  uncle's  table." 

"I   speak   what   appears   to   me  the   general 

C15T1 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

opinion;  and  where  an  opinion  is  general,  it  is 
usually  correct.  Though  /  have  not  seen  much 
of  the  domestic  lives  of  clergymen,  it  is  seen  by 
too  many  to  leave  any  deficiency  of  information." 

"Where  any  one  body  of  educated  men,  of 
whatever  denomination,  are  condemned  indis- 
criminately, there  must  be  a  deficiency  of  infor- 
mation, or  (smiling)  of  something  else.  Your 
uncle,  and  his  brother  admirals,  perhaps  knew 
little  of  clergymen  beyond  the  chaplains  whom, 
good  or  bad,  they  were  always  wishing  away." 

"Poor  William!  He  has  met  with  great  kind- 
ness from  the  chaplain  of  the  Antwerp,"  was  a 
tender  apostrophe  of  Fanny's,  very  much  to  the 
purpose  of  her  own  feelings  if  not  of  the 
conversation. 

"I  have  been  so  little  addicted  to  take  my 
opinions  from  my  uncle,"  said  Miss  Crawford, 
"that  I  can  hardly  suppose — and  since  you  push 
me  so  hard,  I  must  observe,  that  I  am  entirely 
without  the  means  of  seeing  what  clergymen  are, 
being  at  this  present  time  the  guest  of  my  own 
brother,  Dr  Grant.  And  though  Dr  Grant  is 
most  kind  and  obliging  to  me,  and  though  he  is 
really  a  gentleman,  and,  I  dare  say,  a  good 
scholar  and  clever,  and  often  preaches  good 
sermons,  and  is  very  respectable,  I  see  him  to  be 
an  indolent,  selfish  bon  vivant,  who  must  have 
his  palate  consulted  in  everything;  who  will  not 
[158] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

stir  a  finger  for  the  convenience  of  any  one;  and 
who,  moreover,  if  the  cook  makes  a  blunder,  is 
out  of  humour  with  his  excellent  wife.  To  own 
the  truth,  Henry  and  I  were  partly  driven  out 
this  very  evening  by  a  disappointment  about  a 
green  goose,  which  he  could  not  get  the  better  of. 
My  poor  sister  was  forced  to  stay  and  bear  it." 

"I  do  not  wonder  at  your  disapprobation,  upon 
my  word.  It  is  a  great  defect  of  temper,  made 
worse  by  a  very  faulty  habit  of  self-indulgence; 
and  to  see  your  sister  suffering  from  it  must  be 
exceedingly  painful  to  such  feelings  as  yours. 
Fanny,  it  goes  against  us.  We  cannot  attempt 
to  defend  Dr  Grant." 

"No,"  replied  Fanny,  "but  we  need  not  give 
up  his  profession  for  all  that;  because,  whatever 
profession  Dr  Grant  had  chosen,  he  would  have 

taken  a not  a  good  temper  into  it;  and  as  he 

must,  either  in  the  navy  or  army  have  had  a  great 
many  more  people  under  his  command  than  he 
has  now,  I  think  more  would  have  been  made 
unhappy  by  him  as  a  sailor  or  soldier  than  as  a 
clergyman.  Besides,  I  cannot  but  suppose  that 
whatever  there  may  be  to  wish  otherwise  in  Dr 
Grant,  would  have  been  in  a  greater  danger  of 
becoming  worse  in  a  more  active  and  worldly 
profession,  where  he  would  have  had  less  time 
and  obligation — where  he  might  have  escaped 
that   knowledge  of  himself,  the  frequency,   at 

[159] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

least,  of  that  knowledge  which  it  is  impossible  he 
should  escape  as  he  is  now.  A  man — a  sensible 
man  like  Dr  Grant,  cannot  be  in  the  habit  of 
teaching  others  their  duty  every  week,  cannot  go 
to  church  twice  every  Sunday,  and  preach  such 
very  good  sermons  in  so  good  a  manner  as  he 
does,  without  being  the  better  for  it  himself.  It 
must  make  him  think;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
he  of  tener  endeavours  to  restrain  himself  than  he 
would  if  he  had  been  anything  but  a  clergyman." 

"We  cannot  prove  to  the  contrary,  to  be  sure; 
but  I  wish  you  a  better  fate.  Miss  Price,  than  to 
be  the  wife  of  a  man  whose  amiableness  depends 
upon  his  own  sermons;  for,  though  he  may 
preach  himself  into  a  good  humour  every  Sun- 
day, it  will  be  bad  enough  to  have  him  quarreling 
about  green  geese  from  Monday  morning  till 
Saturday  night." 

"I  think  the  man  who  could  often  quarrel  with 
Fanny,"  said  Edmund,  affectionately,  "must  be 
beyond  the  reach  of  any  sermons." 

Fanny  turned  farther  into  the  window;  and 
Miss  Crawford  had  only  time  to  say,  in  a  pleasant 
manner,  "I  fancy  Miss  Price  has  been  more  used 
to  deserve  praise  than  to  hear  it;"  when  being 
earnestly  invited  by  the  Miss  Bertrams  to  join  in 
a  glee,  she  tripped  off  to  the  instrument,  leaving 
Edmund  looking  after  her  in  an  ecstasy  of  ad- 
miration of  all  her  many  virtues,  from  her 
[160] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

obliging  manners  down  to  her  light  and  graceful 
tread. 

"There  goes  good  humour,  I  am  sure,"  said  he 
presently.  "There  goes  a  temper  which  would 
never  give  pain!  How  well  she  walks!  and  how 
readily  she  falls  in  with  the  inclination  of  others ! 
joining  them  the  moment  she  is  asked.  What  a 
pity,"  he  added,  after  an  instant's  reflection, 
"that  she  should  have  been  in  such  hands!" 

Fanny  agreed  to  it,  and  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  him  continue  at  the  window  with  her,  in 
spite  of  the  expected  glee ;  and  of  having  his  eyes 
soon  turned,  like  hers,  towards  the  scene  without, 
where  all  that  was  solemn,  and  soothing,  and 
lovely,  appeared  in  the  brilliancy  of  an  unclouded 
night,  and  the  contrast  of  the  deep  shade  of  the 
woods.  Fanny  spoke  her  feelings.  "Here's 
harmony !"  said  she ;  "here's  repose !  Here's  what 
may  leave  all  painting  and  all  music  behind,  and 
what  poetry  only  can  attempt  to  describe! 
Here's  what  may  tranquillize  every  care,  and  lift 
the  heart  to  rapture!  When  I  look  out  on  such 
a  night  as  this,  I  feel  as  if  there  could  be  neither 
wickedness  nor  sorrow  in  the  world;  and  there 
certainly  would  be  less  of  both  if  the  sublimity  of 
Nature  were  more  attended  to,  and  people  were 
carried  more  out  of  themselves  by  contemplating 
such  a  scene." 

"I  like  to  hear  your  enthusiasm,  Fanny.    It  is  a 

[161] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

lovely  night,  and  they  are  much  to  be  pitied  who 
have  not  been  taught  to  feel,  in  some  degree,  as 
you  do ;  who  have  not,  at  least,  been  given  a  taste 
for  Nature  in  early  life.    They  lose  a  great  deal." 

''You  taught  me  to  think  and  feel  on  the  sub- 
ject, cousin." 

"I  had  a  very  apt  scholar.  There's  Arcturus 
looking  very  bright." 

"Yes,  and  the  Bear.  I  wish  I  could  see  Cassi- 
opeia." 

"We  must  go  out  on  the  lawn  for  that.  Should 
you  be  afraid?" 

"Not  in  the  least.  It  is  a  great  while  since  we 
have  had  any  star-gazing." 

"Yes;  I  do  not  know  how  it  has  happened." 
The  glee  began.  "We  will  stay  till  this  is  fin- 
ished,  Fanny,"  said  he,  turning  his  back  on  the 
window;  and  as  it  advanced,  she  had  the  mortifi- 
cation of  seeing  him  advance  too,  moving 
forward  by  gentle  degrees  towards  the  instru- 
ment, and  when  it  ceased,  he  was  close  by  the 
singers,  among  the  most  urgent  in  requesting  to 
hear  the  glee  again. 

Fanny  sighed  alone  at  the  window  till  scolded 
away  by  Mrs  N orris's  threats  of  catching  cold. 


[16i^i 


MANSFIELD    PARK 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SIR  THOMAS  was  to  return  in  Novem- 
ber, and  his  eldest  son  had  duties  to  call 
him  earlier  home.  The  approach  of  Sep- 
tember brought  tidings  of  Mr  Bertram,  first  in 
a  letter  to  the  gamekeeper  and  then  in  a  letter 
to  Edmund ;  and  by  the  end  of  August  he  arrived 
himself,  to  be  gay,  agreeable,  and  gallant  again 
as  occasion  served,  or  Miss  Crawford  demanded ; 
to  tell  of  races  and  Weymouth,  and  parties  and 
friends,  to  which  she  might  have  listened  six 
weeks  before  with  some  interest,  and  altogether 
to  give  her  the  fullest  conviction,  bj'^  the  power  of 
actual  comparison,  of  her  preferring  his  younger 
brother. 

It  was  very  vexatious,  and  she  was  heartily 
sorry  for  it;  but  so  it  was:  and  so  far  from  now 
meaning  to  marry  the  elder,  she  did  not  even 
want  to  attract  him  beyond  what  the  simplest 
claims  of  conscious  beauty  required:  his  length- 
ened absence  from  Mansfield,  without  anything 
but  pleasure  in  view,  and  his  own  will  to  consult, 
made  it  perfectly  clear  that  he  did  not  care  about 
her;  and  his  indifference  was  so  much  more  than 
equalled  by  her  own,  that  were  he  now  to  step 
forth  the  owner  of  Mansfield  Park,  the  Sir 
Thomas  complete,  which  he  was  to  be  in  time, 
she  did  not  believe  she  could  accept  him. 

[163] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

The  season  and  duties  which  brought  Mr 
Bertram  back  to  Mansfield  took  Mr  Crawford 
into  Norfolk.  Everingham  could  not  do  without 
him  in  the  beginning  of  September.  He  went 
for  a  fortnight — a  fortnight  of  such  dulness  to 
the  Miss  Bertrams  as  ought  to  have  put  them 
both  on  their  guard,  and  made  even  Julia  admit, 
in  her  jealousy  of  her  sister,  the  absolute  necessity 
of  distrusting  his  attentions,  and  wishing  him  not 
to  return;  and  a  fortnight  of  sufficient  leisure, 
in  the  intervals  of  shooting  and  sleeping  to  have 
convinced  the  gentleman  that  he  ought  to  keey) 
longer  away,  had  he  been  more  in  the  habit  of 
examining  his  own  motives,  and  of  reflecting  to 
what  the  indulgence  of  his  idle  vanity  was 
tending;  but,  thoughtless  and  selfish  from 
prosperity  and  bad  example,  he  would  not  look 
beyond  the  present  moment.  The  sisters,  hand- 
some, clever,  and  encouraging,  were  an  amuse- 
ment to  his  sated  mind;  and  finding  nothing  in 
Norfolk  to  equal  the  social  pleasures  of  Mans- 
field, he  gladly  returned  to  it  at  the  time  ap- 
pointed, and  was  welcomed  thither  quite  as 
gladly  by  those  whom  he  came  to  trifle  with 
farther. 

Maria,  with  only  Mr  Rushworth  to  attend  to 

her,  and  doomed  to  the  repeated  details  of  his 

day's  sport,  good  or  bad,  his  boast  of  his  dogs,  his 

jealousy  of  his  neighbours,  his  doubts  of  their 

[164] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

qualifications,  and  his  zeal  after  poachers, 
subjects  which  will  not  find  their  way  to  female 
feelings  without  some  talent  on  one  side  or  some 
attachment  on  the  other,  had  missed  Mr  Craw- 
ford grievously;  and  Julia,  unengaged  and  un- 
employed, felt  all  the  right  of  missing  him  much 
more.  Each  sister  believed  herself  the  favourite. 
Julia  might  be  justified  in  so  doing  by  the  hints 
of  Mrs  Grant,  inclined  to  credit  what  she  wished, 
and  JNIaria  by  the  hints  of  JNIr  Crawford  himself. 
Everything  returned  into  the  same  channel  as 
before  his  absence;  his  manners  being  to  each  so 
animated  and  agreeable  as  to  lose  no  ground  with 
either,  and  just  stopping  short  of  the  consistence, 
the  steadiness,  the  solicitude,  and  the  warmth 
which  might  excite  general  notice. 

Fanny  was  the  only  one  of  the  party  who 
found  anything  to  dislike;  but  since  the  day  at 
Sotherton,  she  could  never  see  Mr  Crawford 
with  either  sister  without  observation,  and  seldom 
without  wonder  or  censure;  and  had  her  confi- 
dence in  her  own  judgment  been  equal  to  her 
exercise  of  it  in  every  other  respect,  had  she  been 
sure  that  she  was  seeing  clearly,  and  judging 
candidly,  she  would  probably  have  made  some 
important  communications  to  her  usual  con- 
fidant. As  it  was,  however,  she  only  hazarded  a 
hint,  and  the  hint  was  lost.  "I  am  rather  sur- 
prised,"  said  she,   "that  Mr   Crawford   should 

[165] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

come  back  again  so  soon,  after  being  here  so  long 
before,  full  seven  weeks ;  for  I  had  understood  he 
was  so  very  fond  of  change  and  moving  about, 
that  I  thought  something  would  certainly  occur 
when  he  was  once  gone,  to  take  him  elsewhere. 
He  is  used  to  much  gayer  places  than  Mansfield." 

"It  is  to  his  credit,"  was  Edmund's  answer; 
"and  I  dare  say  it  gives  his  sister  pleasure.  She 
does  not  like  his  unsettled  habits." 

"What  a  favourite  he  is  with  my  cousins!" 

"Yes,  his  manners  to  women  are  such  as  must 
please.  Mrs  Grant,  I  believe,  suspects  him  of  a 
preference  for  Julia;  I  have  never  seen  much 
symptom  of  it,  but  I  wish  it  may  be  so.  He  has 
no  faults  but  what  a  serious  attachment  would 
remove." 

"If  Miss  Bertram  were  not  engaged,"  said 
Fanny,  cautiously,  "I  could  almost  think  that 
he  admired  her  more  than  Julia." 

"Which  is,  perhaps,  more  in  favour  of  his 
liking  Julia  best,  than  you,  Fanny,  may  be 
aware ;  for  I  believe  it  often  happens,  that  a  man, 
before  he  has  quite  made  up  his  own  mind,  will 
distinguish  the  sister  or  intimate  friend  of  the 
woman  he  is  really  thinking  of,  more  than  the 
woman  lierself.  Crawford  has  too  much  sense 
to  stay  here  if  he  found  himself  in  any  danger 
from  Maria;  and  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  for  her, 
after  such  a  proof  as  she  has  given,  that  her 
feelings  are  not  strong." 
[166] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Fanny  supposed  she  must  have  been  mistaken, 
and  meant  to  think  differently  in  future;  but 
with  all  that  submission  to  Edmund  could  do, 
and  all  the  help  of  the  coinciding  looks  and  hints 
which  she  occasionally  noticed  in  some  of  the 
others,  and  which  seemed  to  say  that  Julia  was 
Mr  Crawford's  choice,  she  knew  not  always  what 
to  think.  She  was  privy,  one  evening,  to  the 
hopes  of  her  aunt  Norris  on  the  subject,  as  well 
as  to  her  feelings,  and  the  feelings  of  Mrs  Rush- 
worth,  on  a  point  of  some  similarity,  and  could 
not  help  wondering  as  she  listened;  and  glad 
would  she  have  been  not  to  be  obliged  to  listen, 
for  it  was  while  all  the  other  young  people  were 
dancing,  and  she  sitting,  most  unwillingly, 
among  the  chaperons  at  the  fire,  longing  for  the 
re-entrance  of  her  elder  cousin,  on  whom  all  her 
own  hopes  of  a  partner  then  depended.  It  was 
Fanny's  first  ball,  though  without  the  prepara- 
tion or  splendour  of  many  a  young  lady's  first 
ball,  being  the  thought  only  of  the  afternoon, 
built  on  the  late  acquisition  of  a  violin  player  in 
the  servants'  hall,  and  the  possibility  of  raising 
five  couple  with  the  help  of  IVIrs  Grant  and  a  new 
intimate  friend  of  Mr  Bertram's  just  arrived  on 
a  visit.  It  had,  however,  been  a  very  happy  one 
to  Fanny  through  four  dances,  and  she  was  quite 
grieved  to  be  losing  even  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
While  waiting  and  wishing,  looking  now  at  the 

[167] 


MANSFIELD    TARK 

dancers  and  now  at  the  door,  this  dialogue  be- 
tween the  two  above-mentioned  ladies  was  forced 
on  her — 

"I  think,  ma'am,"  said  INIrs  Norris — her  eyes 
directed  towards  Mr  Rushworth  and  Maria,  who 
were  partners  for  the  second  time,  "we  shall  see 
some  happy  faces  again  now." 

"Yes  ma'am,  indeed,"  replied  the  other,  with  a 
stately  simper,  "there  will  be  some  satisfaction  in 
looking  on  now,  and  I  think  it  was  rather  a  pity 
they  should  have  been  obliged  to  part.  Young 
folks  in  their  situation  should  be  excused  com- 
plying -with  the  common  forms.  I  wonder  my 
son  did  not  propose  it." 

"I  dare  say  he  did,  ma'am.  Mr  Rushworth  is 
never  remiss.  But  dear  IMaria  has  such  a  strict 
sense  of  propriety,  so  much  of  that  true  delicacy 
which  one  seldom  meets  with  now-a-days,  Mrs 
Rushworth — that  wish  of  avoiding  particularity! 
Dear  ma'am,  only  look  at  her  face  at  this  mo- 
ment; how  different  from  what  it  was  the  two 
last  dances!" 

Miss  Bertram  did  indeed  look  happy,  her 
eyes  were  sparkling  with  pleasure,  and  she  was 
speaking  with  great  animation,  for  Julia  and  her 
partner,  INIr  Crawford,  were  close  to  her;  they 
were  all  in  a  cluster  together.  How  she  had 
looked  before,  Fanny  could  not  recollect,  for  she 
had  been  dancing  with  Edmund  herself,  and  had 
not  thought  about  her. 
[168] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Mrs  Norris  continued,  "It  is  quite  delightful, 
ma'am,  to  see  young  people  so  properly  happy, 
so  well  suited,  and  so  much  the  thing!  I  cannot 
but  think  of  dear  Sir  Thomas's  delight.  And 
what  do  you  say,  ma'am,  to  the  chance  of  another 
match?  Mr  Rush  worth  has  set  a  good  example, 
and  such  things  are  very  catching." 

Mrs  Rushworth,  who  saw  nothing  but  her  son, 
was  quite  at  a  loss.  "The  couple  above,  ma'am. 
Do  you  see  no  symptoms  there?" 

"Oh  dear?  Miss  Julia  and  Mr  Crawford. 
Yes,  indeed,  a  very  pretty  match.  What  is  his 
property?" 

"Four  thousand  a-year." 

"Very  well.  Those  who  have  not  more,  must 
be  satisfied  with  what  they  have.  Four  thousand 
a  year  is  a  pretty  estate,  and  he  seems  a  very 
genteel,  steady  young  man,  so  I  hope  Miss  Julia 
will  be  very  happy." 

"It  is  not  a  settled  thing,  ma'am,  yet.  We 
only  speak  of  it  among  friends.  But  I  have  very 
little  doubt  it  will  be.  He  is  growing  extremely 
particular  in  his  attentions." 

Fanny  could  hsten  no  farther.  Listening  and 
wondering  were  all  suspended  for  a  time,  for  JNIr 
Bertram  was  in  the  room  again;  and  though 
feeling  it  would  be  a  great  honour  to  be  asked  by 
him,  she  thought  it  must  happen.  He  came 
towards  their  little  circle;  but  instead  of  asking 

[169] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

her  to  dance,  drew  a  chair  near  her,  and  gave  her 
an  account  of  the  present  state  of  a  sick  horse, 
and  the  opinion  of  the  groom,  from  whom  he  had 
just  parted.  Fanny  found  that  it  was  not  to  be, 
and  in  the  modesty  of  her  nature  immediately 
felt  that  she  had  been  unreasonable  in  expecting 
it.  When  he  had  told  of  his  horse,  he  took  a 
newspaper  from  the  table,  and  looking  over  it, 
said  in  a  languid  way,  "If  you  want  to  dance, 
Fanny,  I  will  stand  up  with  you."  With  more 
than  equal  civility  the  offer  was  declined ;  she  did 
not  wish  to  dance.  "I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  he,  in 
a  much  brisker  tone,  and  throwing  down  the 
newspaper  again,  "for  I  am  tired  to  death.  I 
only  wonder  how  the  good  people  can  keep  it  up 
so  long.  They  had  need  be  all  in  love,  to  find  any 
amusement  in  such  folly ;  and  so  they  are  I  fancy. 
If  you  look  at  them  you  may  see  they  are  so  many 
couple  of  lovers— all  but  Yates  and  Mrs  Grant — 
and,  between  ourselves,  she,  poor  woman,  must 
want  a  lover  as  much  as  any  one  of  them.  A 
desperate  dull  life  hers  must  be  with  the  doctor," 
making  a  sly  face  as  he  spoke  towards  the  chair 
of  the  latter,  who  proving,  however,  to  be  close 
at  his  elbow,  made  so  instantaneous  a  change  of 
expression  and  subject  necessary,  as  Fanny,  in 
spite  of  everything,  could  hardly  help  laughing 
at.  "A  strange  business  this  in  America,  Dr 
Grant!  What  is  your  opinion?  I  always  come 
[170] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

to  you  to  know  what  I  am  to  think  of  public 
matters." 

"My  dear  Tom,"  cried  his  aunt  soon  after- 
wards, "as  you  are  not  dancing,  I  dare  say  you 
will  have  no  objection  to  join  us  in  a  rubber; 
shall  you?"  Then  leaving  her  seat,  and  coming  to 
him  to  enforce  the  proposal,  added  in  a  whisper, 
"We  want  to  make  a  table  for  Mrs  Rushworth, 
you  know.  Your  mother  is  quite  anxious  about 
it,  but  cannot  very  well  spare  time  to  sit  down 
herself,  because  of  her  fringe.  Now,  you,  and  I, 
and  Dr  Grant,  will  just  do;  and  though  we  play 
but  half-crowns,  you  know,  you  may  bet  half- 
guineas  with  him'' 

"I  should  be  most  happy,"  replied  he  aloud, 
and  jumping  up  with  alacrity,  "it  would  give  me 
the  greatest  pleasure ;  but  that  I  am  this  moment 
going  to  dance.  Come,  Fanny,"  taking  her 
hand,  "do  not  be  dawdling  any  longer,  or  the 
dance  will  be  over." 

Fanny  was  led  off  very  willingly,  though  it 
was  impossible  for  her  to  feel  much  gratitude 
towards  her  cousin,  or  distinguish,  as  he  certainly 
did,  between  the  selfishness  of  another  person  and 
his  own. 

"A  pretty  modest  request  upon  my  word,"  he 
indignantly  exclaimed  as  they  walked  away. 
"To  want  to  nail  me  to  a  card  table  for  the  next 
two  hours  with  herself  and  Dr  Grant,  who  are 

[lYl] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

always  quarrelling,  and  that  poking  old  woman, 
who  knows  no  more  of  whist  than  of  algebra.  I 
wish  my  good  aunt  would  be  a  little  less  busy! 
And  to  ask  me  in  such  a  way  too!  without  cere- 
mony, before  them  all,  so  as  to  leave  me  no 
possibility  of  refusing.  That  is  what  I  dislike 
most  particularly.  It  raises  my  spleen  more  than 
anything,  to  have  the  pretence  of  being  asked,  of 
being  given  a  choice,  and  at  the  same  time  ad- 
dressed in  such  a  way  as  to  oblige  one  to  do  the 
very  thing,  whatever  it  be!  If  I  had  not  luckily 
thought  of  standing  up  with  you  I  could  not  have 
got  out  of  it.  It  is  a  great  deal  too  bad.  But 
when  my  aunt  has  got  a  fancy  in  her  head, 
nothing  can  stop  her." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  Honourable  John  Yates,  this  new 
friend,  had  not  much  to  recommend  him 
beyond  habits  of  fashion  and  expense, 
and  being  the  younger  son  of  a  lord  with  a  tol- 
erable independence;  and  Sir  Thomas  would 
probably  have  thought  his  introduction  at  Mans- 
field by  no  means  desirable.  ]Mr  Bertram's 
acquaintance  with  him  had  begun  at  Weymouth, 
where  they  had  spent  ten  days  together  in  the 
[172] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

same  society,  and  the  friendship,  if  friendship  it 
might  be  called,  had  been  proved  and  perfected 
by  Mr  Yates's  being  invited  to  take  JNIansfield  in 
his  way,  whenever  he  could,  and  by  his  promising 
to  come ;  and  he  did  come  rather  earlier  than  had 
been  expected,  in  consequence  of  the  sudden 
breaking-up  of  a  large  party  assembled  for 
gaiety  at  the  house  of  another  friend,  which  he 
had  left  Weymouth  to  join.  He  came  on  the 
wings  of  disappointment,  and  with  his  head  full 
of  acting,  for  it  had  been  a  theatrical  party;  and 
the  play  in  which  he  had  borne  a  part,  was  within 
two  days  of  representation,  when  the  sudden 
death  of  one  of  the  nearest  connections  of  the 
family  had  destroyed  the  scheme  and  dispersed 
the  performers.  To  be  so  near  happiness,  so  near 
fame,  so  near  the  long  paragraph  in  praise  of  the 
private  theatricals  at  Ecclesford,  the  seat  of  the 
Right  Hon.  Lord  Ravenshaw,  in  Cornwall, 
which  would  of  course  have  immortalized  the 
whole  party  for  at  least  a  twelve-month!  and 
being  so  near,  to  lose  it  all,  was  an  injury  to  be 
keenly  felt,  and  Mr  Yates  could  talk  of  nothing 
else.  Ecclesford  and  its  theatre,  with  its  arrange- 
ments and  dresses,  rehearsals,  and  jokes,  was  his 
never- failing  subject,  and  to  boast  of  the  past 
his  only  consolation. 

Happily  for  him,  a  love  of  the  theatre  is  so 
general,  an  itch   for  acting  so   strong  among 

[173] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

young  people,  that  he  could  hardly  out-talk  the 
interest  of  his  hearers.  From  the  first  casting  of 
the  parts,  to  the  epilogue,  it  was  all  bewitching, 
and  there  were  few  who  did  not  wish  to  have  been 
a  party  concerned,  or  would  have  hesitated  to  try 
their  skill.  The  play  had  been  Lovers'  Vows,  and 
]Mr  Yates  was  to  have  been  Count  Cassel.  "A 
trifling  part,"  said  he,  "and  not  at  all  to  my  taste, 
and  such  a  one  as  I  certainly  would  not  accept 
again ;  but  I  was  determined  to  make  no  difficul- 
ties. Lord  Ravenshaw  and  the  duke  had  appro- 
priated the  only  two  characters  worth  playing 
before  I  reached  Ecclesford,  and  though  Lord 
Ravenshaw  offered  to  resign  his  to  me,  it  was 
impossible  to  take  it,  you  know.  I  was  sorry  for 
him  that  he  should  have  so  mistaken  his  powers, 
for  he  was  no  more  equal  to  the  Baron — a  little 
man  with  a  weak  voice,  always  hoarse  after  the 
first  ten  minutes.  It  must  have  injured  the  piece 
materially;  but  I  was  resolved  to  make  no  diffi- 
culties. Sir  Henry  thought  the  duke  not  equal  to 
Frederick,  but  that  was  because  Sir  Henry 
wanted  the  part  himself ;  whereas  it  was  certainly 
in  the  best  hands  of  the  two.  I  was  surprised  to 
see  Sir  Henry  such  a  stick.  Luckily  the  strength 
of  the  piece  did  not  depend  upon  him.  Our 
Agatha  was  inimitable,  and  the  duke  was  thought 
very  great  by  many.  And  upon  the  whole,  it 
would  certainly  have  gone  off  wonderfully." 
[174] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"It  was  a  hard  case,  upon  my  word;"  and,  "I 
do  think  you  were  very  much  to  be  pitied,"  were 
the  kind  responses  of  Hstening  sympathy. 

"It  is  not  worth  complaining  about;  but  to  be 
sure  the  poor  old  dowager  could  not  have  died  at 
a  worse  time ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  help  wishing 
that  the  news  could  have  been  suppressed  for  just 
the  three  days  we  wanted.  It  was  but  three  days ; 
and  being  only  a  grandmother,  and  all  happening 
two  hundred  miles  off,  I  think  there  would  have 
been  no  great  harm,  and  it  was  suggested,  I 
know;  but  Lord  Ravenshaw,  who  I  suppose  is 
one  of  the  most  correct  men  in  England,  would 
not  hear  of  it." 

"An  afterpiece  instead  of  a  comedy,"  said  Mr 
Bertram.  "Lovers'  Vows  were  at  an  end,  and 
Lord  and  Lady  Ravenshaw  left  to  act  My 
Grandmother  by  themselves.  Well,  the  jointure 
may  comfort  Min;  and,  perhaps,  between  friends, 
he  began  to  tremble  for  his  credit  and  his  lungs 
in  the  Baron,  and  was  not  sorry  to  Mdthdraw ;  and 
to  make  you  amends,  Yates,  I  think  we  must 
raise  a  little  theatre  at  Mansfield,  and  ask  you  to 
be  our  manager." 

This,  though  the  thought  of  the  moment,  did 
not  end  with  the  moment;  for  the  inclination  to 
act  was  awakened,  and  in  no  one  more  strongly 
than  in  him  who  was  now  master  of  the  house; 
and  who  having  so   much  leisure   as  to  make 

[175] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

almost  any  novelty  a  certain  good,  had  likewise 
such  a  degree  of  lively  talents  and  comic  taste,  as 
were  exactly  adaj)ted  to  the  novelty  of  acting. 
The  thought  returned  again  and  again.  "Oh,  for 
the  Ecclesford  theatre  and  scenery  to  try  some- 
thing with!"  Each  sister  could  echo  the  wish;  and 
Henry  Crawford,  to  whom,  in  all  the  riot  of  his 
gratifications  it  was  yet  an  untasted  pleasure,  was 
quite  alive  at  the  idea.  "I  really  believe,"  said  he, 
"I  could  be  fool  enough  at  this  moment  to  un- 
dertake any  character  that  ever  was  written, 
from  Shy  lock  or  Richard  III.  down  to  the 
singing  hero  of  a  farce  in  his  scarlet  coat  and 
cocked  hat.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  be  anything  or 
everything ;  as  if  I  could  rant  and  storm,  or  sigh, 
or  cut  capers  in  any  tragedy  or  comedy  in  the 
English  language.  Let  us  be  doing  something. 
Be  it  only  half  a  play,  an  act,  a  scene;  what 
should  prevent  us?  Not  these  countenances,  I 
am  sure,"  looking  towards  the  Miss  Bertrams, 
"and  for  a  theatre,  what  signifies  a  theatre?  We 
shall  be  only  amusing  ourselves.  Any  room  in 
this  house  might  suffice." 

"We  must  have  a  curtain,"  said  Tom  Bertram; 
"a  few  yards  of  green  baize  for  a  curtain,  and 
perhaps  that  may  be  enough." 

"Oh,  quite  enough!"  cried  Mr  Yates,  "with 
only  just  a  side  wing  or  two  run  up,  doors  in  flat, 
and  three  or  four  scenes  to  be  let  down;  nothing 
[176] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

more  would  be  necessary  on  such  a  plan  as  this. 
For  mere  amusement  among  ourselves,  we  should 
want  nothing  more." 

"I  believe  we  must  be  satisfied  with  less,"  said 
Maria.  "There  vvould  not  be  time,  and  other 
difficulties  would  arise.  We  must  rather  adopt 
Mr  Crawford's  views,  and  make  the  per- 
formance, not  the  theatre,  our  object.  Many 
parts  of  our  best  plays  are  independent  of 
scenery." 

"Nay,"  said  Edmund,  who  began  to  listen  with 
alarm.  "Let  us  do  nothing  by  halves.  If  we  are 
to  act,  let  it  be  in  a  theatre  completely  fitted  up 
with  pit,  boxes,  and  gallery,  and  let  us  have  a 
play  entire  from  beginning  to  end;  so  as  it  be  a 
German  play,  no  matter  what,  with  a  good 
tricking,  shifting  afterpiece,  and  a  figure-dance, 
and  a  hornpipe,  and  a  song  between  the  acts.  If 
we  do  not  outdo  Ecclesford,  we  do  nothing." 

"Now,  Edmund,  do  not  be  disagreeable,"  said 
Julia.  "Nobody  loves  a  play  better  than  you  do, 
or  can  have  gone  much  farther  to  see  one." 

"True,  to  see  real  acting,  good  hardened  real 
acting;  but  I  would  hardly  walk  from  this  room 
to  the  next  to  look  at  the  raw  efforts  of  those  who 
have  not  been  bred  to  the  trade;  a  set  of  gen- 
tlemen and  ladies,  who  have  all  the  disadvantages 
of  education  and  decorum  to  struggle  through." 

After  a  short  pause,  however,  the  subject  still 

[177] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

continued,  and  was  discussed  with  unabated 
eagerness,  every  one's  inclination  increasing  by 
the  discussion,  and  a  knowledge  of  the  inclination 
of  the  rest;  and  though  nothing  was  settled  but 
that  Tom  Bertram  would  prefer  a  comedy,  and 
his  sisters  and  Henry  Crawford  a  tragedy,  and 
that  nothing  in  the  world  could  be  easier  than  to 
find  a  piece  which  would  please  them  all,  the 
resolution  to  act  something  or  other  seemed  so 
decided,  as  to  make  Efdmund  quite  uncom- 
fortable. He  was  determined  to  prevent  it,  if 
possible,  though  his  mother,  who  equally  heard 
the  conversation  which  passed  at  table,  did  not 
evince  the  least  disapprobation. 

The  same  evening  afforded  him  an  oppor- 
tunity of  trying  his  strength.  Maria,  Julia, 
Henry  Crawford,  and  Mr  Yates,  were  in  the 
billiard-room.  Tom  returning  from  them  into 
the  drawing-room,  where  Edmund  was  standing 
thoughtfully  by  the  fire,  while  Lady  Bertram  was 
on  the  sofa  at  a  little  distance,  and  Fanny  close 
beside  her,  arranging  her  work,  thus  began  as 
he  entered — 

"Such  a  horribly  vile  billiard-table  as  ours  is 
not  to  be  met  with,  I  believe,  above  ground.  I 
can  stand  it  no  longer,  and  I  think,  I  may  say, 
that  nothing  shall  ever  tempt  me  to  it  again ;  but 
one  good  thing  I  have  just  ascertained:  it  is  the 
very  room  for  a  theatre,  precisely  the  shape  and 
[178] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

length  for  it;  and  the  doors  at  the  farther  end, 
communicating  with  each  other,  as  they  may  be 
made  to  do  in  five  minutes,  by  merely  moving  the 
bookcase  in  my  father's  room,  is  the  very  thing 
we  could  have  desired,  if  we  had  set  down  to  wish 
for  it;  and  my  father's  room  will  be  an  excellent 
green  room.  It  seems  to  join  the  billiard-room 
on  purpose." 

"You  are  not  serious,  Tom,  in  meaning  to 
act?"  said  Edmund,  in  a  low  voice,  as  his  brother 
approached  the  fire. 

"Not   serious!   never  more   so,    I    assure   you. 
What  is  there  to  surprise  you  in  it?" 

"I  think  it  would  be  very  wrong.  In  a  general 
light,  private  theatricals  are  open  to  some  ob- 
jections, but  as  tve  are  circumstanced,  I  must 
think  it  would  be  highly  injudicious,  and  more 
than  injudicious,  to  attempt  anything  of  the 
kind.  It  would  show  great  want  of  feeling  on 
my  father's  account,  absent  as  he  is,  and  in  some 
degree  of  constant  danger;  and  it  would  be  im- 
prudent, I  think,  with  regard  to  Maria,  whose 
situation  is  a  very  delicate  one,  considering 
everything,  extremely  delicate." 

"You  take  up  a  thing  so  seriously!  as  if  we 
were  going  to  act  three  times  a  week  till  my 
father's  return,  and  invite  all  the  country.  But 
it  is  not  to  be  a  display  of  that  sort.  We  mean 
nothing  but  a  little  amusement  among  ourselves, 

[179] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

just  to  vary  the  scene,  and  exercise  our  powers 
in  something  new.  We  want  no  audience,  no 
pubUcity.  We  may  be  trusted,  I  think,  in 
choosing  some  play  most  perfectly  unexcep- 
tionable; and  I  can  conceive  no  greater  harm  or 
danger  to  any  of  us  in  conversing  in  the  elegant 
written  language  of  some  respectable  author 
than  in  chattering  in  words  of  our  own.  I  have 
no  fears,  and  no  scruples.  And  as  to  my  father's 
being  absent,  it  is  so  far  from  an  objection,  that 
I  consider  it  rather  as  a  motive ;  for  the  expecta- 
tion of  his  return  must  be  a  very  anxious  period 
to  my  mother;  and  if  we  can  be  the  means  of 
amusing  that  anxiety,  and  keeping  up  her  spirits 
for  the  next  few  weeks,  I  shall  think  our  time 
very  well  spent,  and  so,  I  am  sure,  will  he.  It  is  a 
very  anxious  period  for  her." 

As  he  said  this,  each  looked  towards  their 
mother.  Lady  Bertram,  sunk  back  in  one  corner 
of  the  sofa,  the  picture  of  health,  wealth,  ease 
and  tranquillity,  was  just  falling  into  a  gentle 
doze,  while  Fanny  was  getting  through  the  few 
difficulties  of  her  work  for  her. 

Edmund  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"By  Jove!  this  won't  do,"  cried  Tom,  throwing 
himself  into  a  chair  with  a  hearty  laugh.  "To  be 
sure,  my  dear  mother,  your  anxiety — I  was 
unlucky  there." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  her  ladyship,  in 
[1801 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

the  heavy  tone  of  one  half  roused,  "I  was  not 
asleep." 

"Oh  dear  no,  ma'am,  nobody  suspected  you! 
Well,  Edmund,"  he  continued,  returning  to  the 
former  subject,  posture,  and  voice,  as  soon  as 
Lady  Bertram  began  to  nod  again,  "but  this  I 
will  maintain,  that  we  shall  be  doing  no  harm." 

"I  cannot  agree  Mdth  you;  I  am  convinced  that 
my  father  would  totally  disapprove  it." 

"And  I  am  convinced  to  the  contrary.  Nobody 
is  fonder  of  the  exercise  of  talent  in  young 
people,  or  promotes  it  more,  than  my  father,  and 
for  anything  of  the  acting,  spouting,  reciting 
kind,  I  think  he  has  always  a  decided  taste.  I 
am  sure  he  encouraged  it  in  us  as  boys.  How 
many  a  time  have  we  mourned  over  the  dead  body 
of  Julius  Caesar,  and  to  he'd  and  not  to  bed,  in 
this  very  room,  for  his  amusement?  And  I  am 
sure,  my  name  was  Norval,  every  evening  of  my 
life  through  one  Christmas  holidays." 

"It  was  a  very  different  thing.  You  must  see 
the  diiFerence  yourself.  My  father  wished  us,  as 
school-boys,  to  speak  well,  but  he  would  never 
wish  his  grown-up  daughters  to  be  acting  plays. 
His  sense  of  decorum  is  strict." 

"I  know  all  that,"  said  Tom,  displeased.  "I 
know  my  father  as  well  as  you  do;  and  I'll  take 
care  that  his  daughters  do  nothing  to  distress 
him.  INIanage  your  own  concerns,  Edmund,  and 
I'll  take  care  of  the  rest  of  the  family." 

[181] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"If  you  are  resolved  on  acting,"  replied  the 
persevering  Edmund,  "I  must  hope  it  will  be  in  a 
very  small  and  quiet  way;  and  I  think  a  theatre 
ought  not  to  be  attempted.  It  would  be  taking 
liberties  with  my  father's  house  in  his  absence 
which  could  not  be  justified." 

"For  every  thing  of  that  nature,  I  will  be 
answerable,"  said  Tom,  in  a  decided  tone.  "His 
house  shall  not  be  hurt.  I  have  quite  as  great  an 
interest  in  being  careful  of  his  house  as  you  can 
have;  and  as  to  such  alterations  as  I  was  sug- 
gesting just  now,  such  as  moving  a  bookcase,  or 
unlocking  a  door;  or  even  as  using  the  billiard- 
room  for  the  space  of  a  week  without  playing  at 
billiards  in  it,  you  might  just  as  well  suppose  he 
would  object  to  our  sitting  more  in  this  room,  and 
less  in  the  breakfast-room,  than  we  did  before  he 
went  away,  or  to  my  sister's  piano-forte  being 
moved  from  one  side  of  the  room  to  the  other. 
Absolute  nonsense!" 

"The  innovation,  if  not  wrong  as  an  innova- 
tion, will  be  wrong  as  an  expense." 

"Yes,  the  expense  of  such  an  undertaking 
would  be  prodigious!  Perhaps  it  might  cost  a 
whole  twenty  pounds.  Something  of  a  theatre 
we  must  have  undoubtedly,  but  it  will  be  on  the 
simplest  plan;  a  green  curtain  and  a  little  car- 
penter's work,  and  that's  all;  and  as  the  carpen- 
ter's work  may  be  all  done  at  home  by  Christo- 
[182] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

pher  Jackson  himself,  it  will  be  too  absurd  to  talk 
of  expense ;  and  as  long  as  Jackson  is  employed, 
every  thing  will  be  right  with  Sir  Thomas.  Don't 
imagine  that  nobody  in  this  house  can  see  or 
judge  but  yourself.  Don't  act  yourself,  if  you 
do  not  like  it,  but  don't  expect  to  govern  every- 
body else." 

"No,  as  to  acting  myself,"  said  Edmund,  "that 
I  absolutely  protest  against." 

Tom  walked  out  of  the  room  as  he  said  it,  and 
Edmund  was  left  to  sit  down  and  stir  the  fire  in 
thoughtful  vexation. 

Fanny,  who  had  heard  it  all,  and  borne  Ed- 
mund companj'^  in  every  feeling  throughout  the 
whole,  now  ventured  to  say,  in  her  anxiety  to  sug- 
gest some  comfort,  "Perhaps  they  may  not  be 
able  to  find  any  play  to  suit  them.  Your  brother's 
taste,  and  your  sisters'  seem  very  different." 

"I  have  no  hope  there,  Fanny.  If  they  persist 
in  the  scheme,  they  will  find  something.  I  shall 
speak  to  my  sisters  and  try  to  dissuade  therHj  and 
that  is  all  I  can  do." 

"I  should  think  my  aunt  Norris  would  be  on 
your  side." 

"I  dare  say  she  would,  but  she  has  no  influence 
with  either  Tom  or  my  sisters  that  could  be  of  any 
use;  and  if  I  cannot  convince  them  myself,  I 
shall  let  things  take  their  course,  without  at- 
tempting it  through  her.     Family  squabbling  is 

[183] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

the  greatest  evil  of  all,  and  we  had  better  do 
anything  than  be  altogether  by  the  ears." 

His  sisters,  to  whom  he  had  an  opportunity  ot 
speaking  the  next  morning,  were  quite  as  im- 
patient of  his  advice,  quite  as  unyielding  to  his 
representation,  quite  as  determined  in  the  cause 
of  pleasure,  as  Tom.  Their  mother  had  no  ob- 
jection to  the  plan,  and  they  were  not  in  the  least 
afraid  of  their  father's  disapprobation.  There 
could  be  no  harm  in  what  had  been  done  in  so 
many  respectable  families,  and  by  so  many 
women  of  the  first  consideration ;  and  it  must  be 
scrupulousness  run  mad,  that  could  see  anything 
to  censure  in  a  plan  like  theirs,  comprehending 
only  brothers  and  sisters,  and  intimate  friends, 
and  which  would  never  be  heard  of  beyond 
themselves.  Julia  did  seem  inclined  to  admit  that 
Maria's  situation  might  require  particular 
caution  and  delicacy — but  that  could  not  extend 
to  her — she  was  at  liberty;  and  Maria  evidently 
considered  her  engagement  as  only  raising  her  so 
much  more  above  restraint,  and  leaving  her  less 
occasion  than  Julia,  to  consult  either  father  or 
mother.  Edmund  had  little  to  hope,  but  he  was 
still  urging  the  subject,  when  Henry  Crawford 
entered  the  room,  fresh  from  the  Parsonage, 
calling  out,  "No  want  of  hands  in  our  theatre, 
Miss  Bertram.  No  want  of  understrappers;  my 
sister  desires  her  love,  and  hopes  to  be  admitted 
[184] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

into  the  company,  and  will  be  happy  to  take  the 
part  of  any  old  duenna,  or  tame  confidante,  that 
you  may  not  like  to  do  yourselves." 

"Maria  gave  Edmund  a  glance,  which  meant, 
"What  say  you  now?  Can  we  be  wrong  if  Mary 
Crawford  feels  the  same?"  And  Edmund,  si- 
lenced, was  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  the 
charm  of  acting  might  well  carry  fascination  to 
the  mind  of  genius;  and  with  the  ingenuity  of 
love,  to  dwell  more  on  the  obliging,  accomo- 
dating purport  of  the  message  than  on  anything 
else. 

The  scheme  advanced.  Opposition  was  vain; 
and  as  to  Mrs  Norris,  he  was  mistaken  in  sup- 
posing she  would  wish  to  make  any.  She  started 
no  difficulties  that  were  not  talked  down  in  five 
minutes  by  her  eldest  nephew  and  niece,  who  were 
all-powerful  with  her ;  and,  as  the  whole  arrange- 
ment was  to  bring  very  little  expense  to  anybody, 
and  none  at  all  to  herself,  as  she  foresaw  in  it  all 
the  comforts  of  hurry,  bustle,  and  importance, 
and  derived  the  immediate  advantage  of  fancy- 
ing herself  obliged  to  leave  her  own  house,  where 
she  had  been  living  a  month  at  her  own  cost,  and 
take  up  her  abode  in  theirs,  that  every  hour  might 
be  spent  in  their  service,  she  was,  in  fact,  exceed- 
ingly delighted  with  the  project. 


[185] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

FANNY  seemed  nearer  being  right  than 
Edmund  had  supposed.  The  business  of 
finding  a  play  that  would  suit  everybody 
proved  to  be  no  trifle;  and  the  carpenter  had 
received  his  orders  and  taken  his  measurements, 
had  suggested  and  removed  at  least  two  sets  of 
difficulties,  and  having  made  the  necessity  of  an 
enlargement  of  plan  and  expense  fully  evident, 
was  already  at  work,  while  a  play  was  still  to  seek. 
Other  preparations  were  also  in  hand.  An  enor- 
mous roll  of  green  baize  had  arrived  from 
Northampton,  and  been  cut  out  by  Mrs  Norris 
(with  a  saving  by  her  good  management,  of  full 
three  quarters  of  a  yard),  and  was  actually 
forming  into  a  curtain  by  the  housemaids,  and 
still  the  play  was  wanting;  and  as  two  or  three 
days  passed  away  in  this  manner,  Edmund  began 
almost  to  hope  that  none  might  ever  be  found. 
There  were,  in  fact,  so  many  things  to  be 
attended  to,  so  many  people  to  be  pleased,  so 
many  best  characters  required,  and  above  all, 
such  a  need  that  the  play  should  be  at  once  both 
tragedy  and  comedy,  that  there  did  seem  as  little 
chance  of  a  decision  as  anything  pursued  by 
youth  and  zeal  could  hold  out. 

On  the  tragic  side  were  the  Miss  Bertrams, 
[186] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Henry  Crawford  and  Mr  Yates;  on  the  comic, 
Tom  Bertram,  not  quite  alone,  because  it  was 
evident  that  Mary  Crawford's  wishes,  though 
poHtely  kept  back,  incHned  the  same  way:  but 
his  determinateness  and  his  power  seemed  to 
make  aUies  unnecessary;  and,  independent  of 
this  great  irreconcileable  difference,  they  wanted 
a  piece  containing  very  few  characters  in  the 
whole,  but  every  character  first-rate,  and  three 
principal  women.  All  the  best  plays  were  run 
over  in  vain.  Neither  Hamlet,  nor  Macbeth,  nor 
Othello,  nor  Douglas,  nor  the  Gamester,  pre- 
sented anything  that  could  satisfy  even  the 
tragedians;  and  the  Rivals,  the  School  for 
Scandal,  Wheel  of  Fortune,  Heir  at  Law,  and  a 
long  et  cetera,  were  successively  dismissed  with 
yet  warmer  objections.  No  piece  could  be  pro- 
posed that  did  not  supply  somebody  with  a 
difficulty,  and  on  one  side  or  the  other  it  was  a 
continual  repetition  of,  "Oh  no,  that  will  never 
do !  Let  us  have  no  ranting  tragedies.  Too  many 
characters.  Not  a  tolerable  woman's  part  in  the 
play.  Anything  but  that^  my  dear  Tom.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  fill  it  up.  One  could  not 
expect  anybody  to  take  such  a  part.  Nothing 
but  buffoonery  from  beginning  to  end.  That 
might  do,  perhaps,  but  for  the  low  parts.  If  I 
must  give  my  opinion,  I  have  always  thought  it 
the  most  insipid  play  in  the  English  language.  I 

[187] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

do  not  wish  to  make  objections;  I  shall  be  happy 
to  be  of  any  use,  but  I  think  we  could  not  choose 
worse." 

Fanny  looked  on  and  listened,  not  amused  to 
observe  the  selfishness  which,  more  or  less  dis- 
guised, seemed  to  govern  them  all,  and  wonder- 
ing how  it  would  end.  For  her  own  gratification 
she  could  have  wished  that  something  might  be 
acted,  for  she  had  never  seen  even  half  a  play,  but 
everything  of  higher  consequence  was  against  it. 

"This  will  never  do,"  said  Tom  Bertram  at  last. 
"We  are  wasting  time  most  abominably.  Some- 
thing must  be  fixed  on.  No  matter  M^hat,  so  that 
something  is  chosen.  We  must  not  be  so  nice.  A 
few  characters  too  many  must  not  frighten  us. 
We  must  double  them.  We  must  descend  a 
little.  If  a  part  is  insignificant,  the  greater  our 
credit  in  making  anything  of  it.  From  this 
moment  I  make  no  difficulties.  I  take  any  part 
you  choose  to  give  me,  so  as  it  be  comic.  Let  it 
but  be  comic,  I  condition  for  nothing  more." 

For  about  the  fifth  time  he  then  proposed  the 
Heir  at  Law,  doubting  only  whether  to  prefer 
Lord  Duberley  or  Dr  Pangloss  for  himself ;  and 
very  earnestly,  but  very  unsuccessfully,  trying  to 
persuade  the  others  that  there  were  some  fine 
tragic  parts  in  the  rest  of  the  dramatis  personfe. 

The  pause  which  followed  this  fruitless  effort 
was  ended  by  the  same  speaker,  who  taking  up 
[188] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

one  of  the  many  volumes  of  plays  that  lay  on  the 
table,  and  turning  it  over,  suddenly  exclaimed, — 
"Lovers'  Vows!  And  why  should  not  Lovers' 
Vows  do  for  us  as  well  as  for  the  Ravenshaws? 
How  came  it  never  to  be  thought  of  before?  It 
strikes  me  as  if  it  would  do  exactly.  What  say 
you  all?  Here  are  two  capital  tragic  parts  for 
Yates  and  Crawford,  and  here  is  the  rhyming 
Butler  for  me,  if  nobody  else  wants  it ;  a  trifling 
part,  but  the  sort  of  thing  I  should  not  dislike, 
and,  as  I  said  before,  I  am  determined  to  take 
anything  and  do  my  best.  And  as  for  the  rest, 
they  may  be  filled  up  by  anybody.  It  is  only 
Count  Cassel  and  Anhalt." 

The  suggestion  was  generally  welcome. 
Everybody  was  growing  weary  of  indecision, 
and  the  first  idea  with  everybody  was,  that 
nothing  had  been  proposed  before  so  likely  to 
suit  them  all.  Mr  Yates  was  particularly 
pleased:  he  had  been  sighing  and  longing  to  do 
the  Baron  at  Ecclesford,  had  grudged  every  rant 
of  Lord  Ravenshaw's  and  been  forced  to  re-rant 
it  all  in  his  own  room.  The  storm  through  Baron 
[Wildenheim]  was  the  height  of  his  theatrical 
ambition;  and  with  the  advantage  of  knowing 
half  the  scenes  by  heart  already,  he  did  now  with 
the  greatest  alacrity,  offer  his  services  for  the 
part.  To  do  him  justice,  however,  he  did  not 
resolve  to  appropriate  it;  for  remembering  that 

[189] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

there  was  some  good  ranting  ground  in  Freder- 
ick, he  professed  an  equal  wilhngness  for  that. 
Henry  Crawford  was  ready  to  take  either. 
Whichever  jNIr  Yates  did  not  choose  would  per- 
fectly satisfy  him,  and  a  short  parley  of  compli- 
ment ensued.  IVIiss  Bertram,  feeling  all  the 
interest  of  an  Agatha  in  the  question,  took  on  her 
to  decide  it,  by  observing  to  ]Mr  Yates,  that  this 
was  a  point  in  which  height  and  figure  ought  to  be 
considered,  and  that  Ids  being  the  tallest,  seemed 
to  fit  him  peculiarly  for  the  Baron.  She  was 
acknowledged  to  be  quite  right,  and  the  two  parts 
being  accepted  accordingly,  she  was  certain  of 
the  proper  Frederick.  Three  of  the  characters 
were  now  cast,  besides  Mr  Rush  worth,  who  was 
always  answered  for  by  INIaria  as  willing  to  do 
anything ;  when  Julia,  meaning,  like  her  sister,  to 
be  Agatha,  began  to  be  scrupulous  on  Miss 
Crawford's  account. 

"This  is  not  behaving  well  by  the  absent,"  said 
she.  "Here  are  not  women  enough.  Amelia  and 
Agatha  may  do  for  Maria  and  me,  but  here  is 
nothing  for  your  sister,  Mr  Crawford." 

Mr  Crawford  desired  that  might  not  be 
thought  of:  he  was  very  sure  his  sister  had  no 
wish  of  acting,  but  as  she  might  be  useful,  and 
that  she  would  not  allow  herself  to  be  considered 
in  the  present  case.  But  this  was  immediately 
opposed  by  Tom  Bertram,  who  asserted  the  part 
[190] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

of  Amelia  to  be  in  every  respect  the  property  of 
Miss  Crawford,  if  she  would  accept  it.  "It  falls 
as  naturally,  as  necessarily  to  her,"  said  he,  "as 
Agatha  does  to  one  or  other  of  my  sisters.  It 
can  be  no  sacrifice  on  their  side,  for  it  is  highly 
comic." 

A  short  silence  followed.  Each  sister  looked 
anxious;  for  each  felt  the  best  claim  to  Agatha, 
and  was  hoping  to  have  it  pressed  on  her  by  the 
rest.  Henry  Crawford,  who  meanwhile  had 
taken  up  the  play,  and  with  seeming  carelessness 
was  turning  over  the  first  act,  soon  settled  the 
business. 

"I  must  entreat  Miss  Julia  Bertram,"  said  he, 
"not  to  engage  in  the  part  of  Agatha,  or  it  will  be 
the  ruin  of  all  my  solemnity.  You  must  not, 
indeed  you  must  not  (turning  to  her).  I  could 
not  stand  your  countenance  dressed  up  in  woe 
and  paleness.  The  many  laughs  we  have  had 
together  would  infallibly  come  across  me,  and 
Frederick  and  his  knapsack  would  be  obliged  to 
run  away." 

Pleasantly,  courteously,  it  was  spoken ;  but  the 
manner  was  lost  in  the  matter  to  Julia's  feelings. 
She  saw  a  glance  at  Maria,  which  confirmed  the 
injury  to  herself:  it  was  a  scheme,  a  trick;  she 
was  slighted,  Maria  was  preferred;  the  smile  of 
triumph  which  Maria  was  trying  to  suppress 
showed  how  well  it  was  understood;  and  before 

[191] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Julia  could  command  herself  enough  to  speak, 
her  brother  gave  his  weight  against  her  too,  by- 
saying,  "Oh  yes!  Maria  must  be  Agatha.  Maria 
will  be  the  best  Agatha.  Though  Julia  fancies 
she  prefers  tragedy,  I  would  not  trust  her  in  it, 
There  is  nothing  of  tragedy  about  her.  She  has 
not  the  look  of  it.  Her  features  are  not  tragic 
features,  and  she  walks  too  quick,  and  speaks  too 
quick,  and  would  not  keep  her  countenance.  She 
had  better  do  the  old  countrywoman:  the 
Cottager's  wife;  you  had,  indeed,  Julia.  Cot- 
tager's wife  is  a  very  pretty  part,  I  assure  you. 
The  old  lady  relieves  the  high-flown  benevolence 
of  her  husband  with  a  good  deal  of  spirit.  You 
shall  be  Cottager's  wife." 

"Cottager's  wife!"  cried  Mr  Yates.  "What 
are  you  talking  of?  The  most  trivial,  paltry, 
insignificant  part;  the  merest  commonplace;  not 
a  tolerable  speech  in  the  whole.  Your  sister  do 
that!  It  is  an  insult  to  propose  it.  At  Ecclesford 
the  governess  was  to  have  done  it.  We  all  agreed 
that  it  could  not  be  offered  to  anybody  else.  A 
little  more  justice,  INIr  Manager,  if  you  please. 
You  do  not  deserve  the  office,  if  you  cannot 
appreciate  the  talents  of  your  company  a  little 
better." 

"Why  as  to  that,  my  good  friend,  till  I  and 
my  company  have  really  acted  there  must  be  some 
guesswork;  but   I   mean  no   disparagement  to 
[192] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Julia.  We  cannot  have  two  Agathas,  and  we 
must  have  one  Cottager's  wife ;  and  I  am  sure  I 
set  her  the  example  of  moderation  myself  in 
being  satisfied  with  the  old  Butler.  If  the  part 
is  trifling  she  will  have  more  credit  in  making 
something  of  it;  and  if  she  is  so  desperately  bent 
against  everything  humorous,  let  her  take  Cot- 
tager's speeches  instead  of  Cottager's  wife's,  and 
so  change  the  parts  all  through ;  he  is  solemn  and 
pathetic  enough,  I  am  sure.  It  could  make  no 
difference  in  the  play,  and  as  for  Cottager 
himself,  when  he  has  got  his  wife's  speeches,  I 
would  undertake  him  with  all  my  heart." 

"With  all  your  partiality  for  Cottager's  wife," 
said  Henry  Crawford,  "it  will  be  impossible  to 
make  anything  of  it  fit  for  your  sister,  and  we 
must  not  suffer  her  good  nature  to  be  imposed  on. 
We  must  not  allow  her  to  accept  the  part.  She 
must  not  be  left  to  her  own  complaisance.  Her 
talents  will  be  wanted  in  Amelia.  Amelia  is  a 
character  more  difficult  to  be  well  represented 
than  even  Agatha.  I  consider  Amelia  is  the  most 
difficult  character  in  the  whole  piece.  It  requires 
great  powers,  great  nicety,  to  give  her  playful- 
ness and  simplicity  without  extravagance.  I 
have  seen  good  actresses  fail  in  the  part.  Sim- 
plicity, indeed,  is  beyond  the  reach  of  almost 
every  actress  by  profession.  It  requires  a 
delicacy  of  feeling  which  they  have  not.       It 

[193] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

requires  a  gentlewoman — a  Julia  Bertram.  You 
will  undertake  it,  I  hope  ?"turning  to  her  with  a 
look  of  anxious  entreaty,  which  softened  her  a 
little;  but  while  she  hesitated  Vvhat  to  say,  her 
brother  again  interposed  with  Miss  Crawford's 
better  claim. 

"No,  no,  Julia  must  not  be  Amelia.  It  is  not 
at  all  the  part  for  her.  She  would  not  like  it. 
She  would  not  do  well.  She  is  too  tall  and  robust. 
Amelia  should  be  a  small,  light,  girlish,  skipping 
figure.  It  is  fit  for  Miss  Crawford,  and  Miss 
Crawford  only.  She  looks  the  part,  and  I  am 
persuaded  will  do  it  admirably." 

Without  attending  to  this,  Henry  Crawford 
continued  his  supplication.  "You  must  oblige 
us,"  said  he,  "indeed  you  must.  When  you  have 
studied  the  character,  I  am  sure  you  will  feel  it 
suits  you.  Tragedy  may  be  your  choice,  but  it  will 
certainly  appear  that  comedy  chooses  you.  You 
will  be  to  visit  me  in  prison  with  a  basket  of 
provisions;  you  will  not  refuse  to  visit  me  in 
prison?  I  think  I  see  you  coming  in  with  your 
basket?" 

The  influence  of  his  voice  was  felt.  Julia 
wavered;  but  was  he  only  trying  to  soothe  and 
pacify  her,  and  make  her  overlook  the  previous 
affront?  She  distrusted  him.  The  slight  had 
been  most  determined.  He  was,  perhaps,  but  at 
treacherous  play  with  her.  She  looked  sus- 
[194] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

piciously  at  her  sister;  JNIaria's  countenance  was 
to  decide  it ;  if  she  were  vexed  and  alarmed — but 
Maria  looked  all  serenity  and  satisfaction,  and 
Julia  well  knew  that  on  this  ground  Maria  could 
not  be  happy  but  at  her  expense.  With  hasty 
indignation,  therefore,  and  a  tremulous  voice, 
she  said  to  him,  "You  do  not  seem  afraid  of  not 
keeping  your  countenance  when  I  come  in  with 
a  basket  of  provisions — though  one  might  have 
supposed — but  it  is  only  as  Agatha  that  I  was  to 
be  so  overpowering!"  She  stopped^  Henry 
Crawford  looked  rather  foolish,  and  as  if  he  did 
not  know  what  to  say  Tom  Bertram  began 
again — 

"Miss  Crawford  must  be  Amelia.  She  will  be 
an  excellent  Amelia." 

"Do  not  be  afraid  of  my  wanting  the  char- 
acter," cried  Julia,  with  angry  quickness:  "I  am 
not  to  be  Agatha,  and  I  am  sure  I  will  do  nothing 
else;  and  as  to  Amelia,  it  is  of  all  parts  in  the 
world  the  most  disgusting  to  me.  I  quite  detest 
her.  An  odious,  little,  pert,  unnatural,  impudent 
girl.  I  have  always  protested  against  comedy, 
and  this  is  comedy  in  its  worst  form."  And  so 
saying,  she  walked  hastily  out  of  the  room, 
leaving  awkward  feelings  to  more  than  one,  but 
exciting  small  compassion  in  any  except  Fanny, 
who  had  been  a  quiet  auditor  of  the  whole,  and 
who  could  not  think  of  her  as  under  the  agitations 
of  jealousy  without  great  pity. 

[195] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

A  short  silence  succeeded  her  leaving  them; 
but  her  brother  soon  returned  to  business  and 
Lovers'  Vows,  and  was  eagerly  looking  over  the 
play,  with  ]\Ir  Yates's  help,  to  ascertain  what 
scenery  would  be  necessary,  while  Maria  and 
Henry  Crawford  conversed  together  in  an  under 
voice,  and  the  declaration  with  which  she  began 
of,  "I  am  sure  I  would  give  up  the  part  to  Julia 
most  willingly,  but  that  though  I  shall  probably 
do  it  very  ill,  I  feel  persuaded  she  would  do  it 
worse,"  was  doubtless  receiving  all  the  compli- 
ments it  called  for. 

When  this  had  lasted  some  time,  the  division  of 
the  party  was  completed  by  Tom  Bertram  and 
Mr  Yates  walking  off  together  to  consult  farther 
in  the  room  now  beginning  to  be  called  the 
Theatre,  and  Miss  Bertram's  resolving  to  go 
down  to  the  Parsonage  herself  M-ith  the  oiFer  of 
Amelia  to  Miss  Crawford;  and  Fanny  remained 
alone. 

The  first  use  she  made  of  her  solitude  was  to 
take  up  the  volume  which  had  been  left  on  the 
table,  and  begin  to  acquaint  herself  with  the  play 
of  which  she  had  heard  so  much.  Her  curiosity 
was  all  awake,  and  she  ran  through  it  with  an 
eagerness  which  was  suspended  only  by  intervals 
of  astonishment,  that  it  could  be  chosen  in  the 
present  instance,  that  it  could  be  proposed  and 
accepted  in  a  private  theatre!  Agatha  and 
[196] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Amelia  appeared  to  her  in  their  different  ways  so 
totally  improper  for  home  representation;  the 
situation  of  one,  and  the  language  of  the  other,  so 
unfit  to  be  expressed  by  any  woman  of  modesty, 
that  she  could  hardly  suppose  her  cousins  could 
be  aware  of  what  they  were  engaging  in;  and 
longed  to  have  them  roused  as  soon  as  possible  by 
the  remonstrance  which  Edmund  would  certainly 
make. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MISS  CRAWFORD  accepted  the  part 
very  readily;  and  soon  after  Miss 
Bertram's  return  from  the  Parsonage, 
Mr  Rushworth  arrived,  and  another  character 
was  consequently  cast.  He  had  the  offer  of 
Count  Cassel  and  Anhalt,  and  at  first  did  not 
know  which  to  choose,  and  wanted  INIiss  Bertram 
to  direct  him ;  but  upon  being  made  to  understand 
the  different  style  of  the  characters,  and  which 
was  which,  and  recollecting  that  he  had  once  seen 
the  play  in  London,  and  had  thought  Anhalt  a 
very  stupid  fellow,  he  soon  decided  for  the 
Count.  jNIiss  Bertram  approved  the  decision, 
for  the  less  he  had  to  learn  the  better ;  and  though 
she  could  not  sympathise  in  his  wish  that  the 
Count  and  Agatha  might  be  to  act  together,  nor 

[197] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

wait  very  patiently  while  he  was  slowly  turning 
over  the  leaves  with  the  hope  of  still  discovering 
such  a  scene,  she  very  kindly  took  his  part  in  hand, 
and  curtailed  every  speech  that  admitted  being 
shortened;  besides  pointing  out  the  necessity  of 
his  being  very  much  dressed,  and  choosing  his 
colours.  Mr  Rushworth  liked  the  idea  of  his 
finery  very  well,  though  affecting  to  despise  it; 
and  was  too  much  engaged  with  what  his  own 
appearance  would  be,  to  think  of  the  others,  or 
draw  any  of  those  conclusions,  or  feel  any  of 
that  displeasure  which  Maria  had  been  half 
prepared  for. 

Thus  much  was  settled  before  Edmund,  who 
had  been  out  all  the  morning,  knew  anything  of 
the  matter;  but  when  he  entered  the  drawing- 
room  before  dinner,  the  buz  of  discussion  was 
high  between  Tom,  Maria,  and  Mr  Yates;  and 
Mr  Rushworth  stepped  forward  with  great 
alacrity  to  tell  him  the  agreeable  news. 

"We  have  got  a  play,"  said  he.  "It  is  to  be 
Lovers'  Vows;  and  I  am  to  be  Count  Cassel,  and 
am  to  come  in  first  with  a  blue  dress,  and  a  pink 
satin  cloak,  and  afterwards  am  to  have  another 
fine  fancy  suit,  by  way  of  a  shooting-dress.  I  do  i 
not  know  how  I  shall  like  it."  1 

Fanny's  eyes  followed  Edmund,  and  her  heart 
beat  for  him  as  she  lieard  this  speech,  and  saw  his 
look,  and  felt  what  his  sensations  must  be. 
[198] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"Lovers'  Vows!"  in  a  tone  of  the  greatest 
amazement,  was  his  only  reply  to  Mr  Rushworth, 
and  he  turned  towards  his  brother  and  sisters  as 
if  hardly  doubting  a  contradiction. 

"Yes,"  cried  Mr  Yates.  "After  all  our 
debatings  and  difficulties,  we  find  there  is  nothing 
so  unexceptionable,  as  Lovers'  Vows.  The 
wonder  is,  that  it  should  not  have  been  thought  of 
before.  My  stupidity  was  abominable,  for  here 
we  have  all  the  advantage  of  what  I  saw  at 
Ecclesford;  and  it  is  so  useful  to  have  anything 
of  a  model!    We  have  cast  almost  every  part." 

"But  what  do  you  do  for  women?"  said 
Edmund  gravely,  and  looking  at  Maria. 

Maria  blushed  in  spite  of  herself  as  she  an- 
swered, "I  take  the  part  which  Lady  Ravenshaw 
was  to  have  done,  and  (with  a  bolder  eye)  Miss 
Crawford  is  to  be  Amelia." 

"I  should  not  have  thought  it  the  sort  of  play 
to  be  so  easily  filled  up,  with  us,""  replied  Ed- 
mund, turning  away  to  the  fire,  where  sat  his 
mother,  aunt,  and  Fanny,  and  seating  himself 
with  a  look  of  great  vexation. 

Mr  Rushworth  followed  him  to  say,  "I  come  in 
three  times,  and  have  two-and-forty  speeches. 
That's  something,  is  not  it?  But  1  do  not  much 
like  the  idea  of  being  so  fine.  I  shall  hardly  know 
myself  in  a  blue  dress,  and  a  pink  satin  cloak." 

Edmund  could  not  answer  him.     In  a  few 

[199] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

minutes  Mr  Bertram  was  called  out  of  the  room 
to  satisfy  some  doubts  of  the  carpenter;  and 
being  accompanied  by  Mr  Yates,  and  followed 
soon  afterwards  by  Mr  Rushworth,  Edmund 
almost  immediately  took  the  opportunity  of 
saying,  "I  cannot  before  Mr  Yates  speak  what  I 
feel  as  to  this  play,  without  reflecting  on  his 
friends  at  Ecclesford;  but  I  must  now,  my  dear 
Maria,  tell  you,  that  I  think  it  exceedingly  unfit 
for  private  representation,  and  that  I  hope  you 
will  give  it  up.  I  cannot  bat  suppose  you  will 
when  you  have  read  it  carefully  over.  Read  only 
the  first  act  aloud  to  either  your  mother  or  aunt, 
and  see  how  you  can  approve  it.  It  will  not  be 
necessary  to  send  you  to  your  father's  judgment, 
I  am  convinced." 

"We  see  things  very  differently,"  cried  Maria. 
"I  am  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  play,  I 
assure  you;  and  with  a  very  few  omissions,  and 
so  forth,  which  will  be  made,  of  course,  I  can  see 
nothing  objectionable  in  it;  and  I  am  not  the  only 
young  woman  you  find,  who  thinks  it  very  fit  for 
private  representation." 

"I  am  sorry  for  it,"  was  his  answer;  "but  in  this 
matter  it  is  you  who  are  to  lead.  You  must  set 
the  example.  If  others  have  blundered,  it  is  your 
place  to  put  them  right,  and  show  them  what  true 
delicacy  is.  In  all  points  of  decorum,  your 
conduct  must  be  law  to  the  rest  of  the  party." 
[200] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

This  picture  of  her  consequence  had  some  ef- 
fect, for  no  one  loved  better  to  lead  than  Maria; 
and  with  far  more  good  humour  she  answered,  "I 
am  much  obliged  to  you,  Edmund;  you  mean 
very  well,  I  am  sure;  but  I  still  think  you  see 
things  too  strongly;  and  I  really  cannot  under- 
take to  harangue  all  the  rest  upon  a  subject  of 
this  kind.  There  would  be  the  greatest  inde- 
corum, I  think." 

"Do  you  imagine  that  I  could  have  such  an 
idea  in  my  head?  No:  let  your  conduct  be  the 
only  harangue.  Say  that,  on  examining  the  part, 
you  feel  yourself  unequal  to  it;  that  you  find  it 
requiring  more  exertion  and  confidence  than  you 
can  be  supposed  to  have.  Say  this  with  firmness, 
and  it  will  be  quite  enough.  All  who  can  distin- 
guish will  understand  your  motive.  The  play 
vdW.  be  given  up,  and  your  delicacy  honoured  as 
it  ought." 

"Do  not  act  anything  improper,  my  dear,"  said 
Lady  Bertram.  "Sir  Thomas  would  not  like  it. 
Fanny,  ring  the  bell ;  I  must  have  my  dinner.  To 
be  sure  Julia  is  dressed  by  this  time." 

"I  am  convinced,  madam,"  said  Edmund, 
preventing  Fanny,  "that  Sir  Thomas  would  not 
like  it." 

"There,  my  dear,  do  you  hear  what  Edmund 
says?" 

"If  I  were  to  decline  the  part,"  said  Maria, 

[201] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

with  renewed  zeal,  "Julia  would  certainly  take 
it." 

"What!"  cried  Edmund,  "if  she  knew  your 
reasons!" 

"Oh!  she  might  think  the  difference  between 
us —  the  difference  in  our  situations — that  she 
need  not  be  so  scrupulous  as  /  might  feel  neces- 
sary. I  am  sure  she  would  argue  so.  No:  you 
must  excuse  me ;  I  cannot  retract  my  consent ;  it 
is  too  far  settled,  everybody  would  be  so  dis- 
appointed, Tom  would  be  quite  angry ;  and  if  we 
are  so  very  nice,  we  shall  never  act  anything." 

"I  was  just  going  to  say  the  very  same  thing," 
said  Mrs  Norris.  "If  every  play  is  to  be  objected 
to,  you  will  act  nothing,  and  the  preparations  will 
be  all  so  much  money  thrown  away,  and  I  am  sure 
that  would  be  a  discredit  to  us  all.  I  do  not  know 
the  play ;  but,  as  Maria  says,  if  there  is  anything  a 
little  too  warm  (and  it  is  so  with  most  of  them)  it 
can  be  easily  left  out.  We  must  not  be  over 
precise,  Edmund.  As  Mr  Rushworth  is  to  act 
too,  there  can  be  no  harm.  I  only  wish  Tom  had 
known  his  own  mind  when  the  carpenters  began, 
for  there  was  the  loss  of  half  a  day's  work  about 
those  side-doors.  The  curtain  will  be  a  good  job, 
however.  The  maids  do  their  work  very  well,  and 
I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  send  back  some  dozens 
of  the  rings.  There  is  no  occasion  to  put  them  so 
very  close  together.  I  am  of  some  use,  I  hope,  in 
[202] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

preventing  waste  and  making  the  most  of  things. 
There  should  always  be  one  steady  head  to  super- 
intend so  many  young  ones.  I  forgot  to  tell  Tom 
of  something  that  happened  to  me  this  very  day. 
I  had  been  looking  about  me  in  the  poultry  yard, 
and  was  just  coming  out,  when  who  should  I  see 
but  Dick  Jackson  making  up  to  the  servants' 
hall-door  with  two  bits  of  deal  board  in  his  hand, 
bringing  them  to  father,  you  may  be  sure; 
mother  had  chanced  to  send  him  of  a  message  to 
father,  and  then  father  had  bid  him  bring  up 
them  two  bits  of  board,  for  he  could  not  no  how 
do  without  them.  I  knew  what  all  this  meant, 
for  the  servants'  dinner-bell  was  ringing  at  the 
very  moment  over  our  heads;  and  as  I  hate  such 
encroaching  people  (the  Jacksons  are  very  en- 
croaching, I  have  always  said  so:  just  the  sort  of 
people  to  get  all  they  can),  I  said  to  the  boy 
directly  (a  great  lubberly  fellow  of  ten  years  old, 
you  know,  who  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself)  ; 
Til  take  the  boards  to  your  father,  Dick,  so  get 
you  home  again  as  fast  as  you  can.'  The  boy 
looked  very  silly,  and  turned  away  without 
offering  a  word,  for  I  believe  I  might  speak 
pretty  sharp;  and  I  dare  say  it  will  cure  him  of 
coming  marauding  about  the  house  for  one  while. 
I  hate  such  greediness ;  so  good  as  your  father  is 
to  the  family,  employing  the  man  all  the  year 
round!" 

[203] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Nobody  was  at  the  trouble  of  an  answer;  the 
others  soon  returned ;  and  Edmund  found  that  to 
have  endeavoured  to  set  them  right  must  be  his 
only  satisfaction. 

Dinner  passed  heavily.  Mrs  Norris  related 
again  her  triumph  over  Dick  Jackson,  but  neither 
play  nor  preparation  were  otherwise  much  talked 
of,  for  Edmund's  disapprobation  was  felt  even 
by  his  brother,  though  he  would  not  have  owned 
it.  Maria,  wanting  Henry  Crawford's  animat- 
ing support,  thought  the  subject  better  avoided. 
Mr  Yates,  who  was  trying  to  make  himself 
agreeable  to  Julia,  found  her  gloom  less  impen- 
trable  on  any  topic  than  that  of  his  regret  at  her 
secession  from  their  company ;  and  Mr  Rush- 
worth,  having  only  his  own  part  and  his  own  dress 
in  his  head,  had  soon  talked  away  all  that  could  be 
said  of  either. 

But  the  concerns  of  the  theatre  were  sus- 
pended only  for  an  hour  or  two,  there  was  still  a 
great  deal  to  be  settled ;  and  the  spirits  of  evening 
giving  fresh  courage,  Tom,  Maria,  and  Mr 
Yates,  soon  after  their  being  re-assembled  in  the 
drawing-room,  seated  themselves  in  committee 
at  a  separate  table,  with  the  play  open  before 
them,  and  were  just  getting  deep  in  the  subject, 
when  a  most  welcome  interruption  was  given  by 
the  entrance  of  Mr  and  Miss  Crawford,  who,  late 
and  dark,  and  dirty  as  it  was,  could  not  help 
[204] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

coming,  and  were  received  with  the  most  grateful 

joy- 

"Well,  how  do  you  go  on?"  and  "What  have 
you  settled?"  and  "Oh!  we  can  do  nothing 
without  you,"  follow^ed  the  first  salutations;  and 
Henry  Crawford  was  soon  seated  with  the  other 
three  at  the  table,  while  his  sister  made  her  way  to 
Lady  Bertram,  and  with  pleasant  attention  was 
complimenting  her.  "I  must  really  congratulate 
your  ladyship,"  said  she,  "on  the  play  being 
chosen ;  for  though  you  have  borne  it  with  exem- 
plary patience,  I  am  sure  you  must  be  sick  of  all 
our  noise  and  difficulties.  The  actors  may  be 
glad,  but  the  by-standers  must  be  infinitely  more 
thankful  for  a  decision;  and  I  do  sincerely  give 
you  joy,  madam,  as  well  as  Mrs  Norris,  and 
everybody  else  who  is  in  the  same  predicament," 
glancing  half  fearfully,  half  sHly,  beyond  Fanny 
to  Edmund. 

She  was  very  civilly  answered  by  Lady 
Bertram,  but  Edmund  said  nothing.  His  being 
only  a  by-stander  was  not  disclaimed.  After 
continuing  in  chat  with  the  party  round  the  fire  a 
few  minutes.  Miss  Crawford  returned  to  the 
party  round  the  table;  and  standing  by  them, 
seemed  to  interest  herself  in  their  arrangements 
till,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  recollection,  she 
exclaimed,  "My  good  friends,  you  are  most  com- 
posedly at  work  upon  these  cottages  and  ale- 

[205] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

houses,  inside  and  out ;  but  pray,  let  me  know  my 
fate  in  the  meanwhile.  Who  is  to  be  Anhalt? 
What  gentleman  among  you  am  I  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  making  love  to?" 

For  a  moment  no  one  spoke;  and  then  many 
spoke  together  to  tell  the  same  melancholy  truth, 
that  they  had  not  yet  got  any  Anhalt.  "Mr 
Rushworth  was  to  be  Count  Cassel,  but  no  one 
had  yet  undertaken  Anhalt." 

"I  had  my  choice  of  the  parts,"  said  Mr 
Rushworth;  "but  I  thought  I  should  like  the 
Count  best,  though  I  do  not  much  relish  the 
finery  I  am  to  have." 

"You  chose  very  wisely,  I  am  sure,"  replied 
Miss  Crawford,  with  a  brightened  look;  "Anhalt 
is  a  heavy  part." 

^'The  Count  has  two-and- forty  speeches,'* 
returned  Mr  Rushworth,  "which  is  no  trifle." 

"I  am  not  at  all  surprised,"  said  Miss  Craw- 
ford, after  a  short  pause,  "at  this  want  of  an 
Anhalt.  Amelia  deserves  no  better.  Such  a 
forward  young  lady  may  well  frighten  the  men." 

"I  should  be  but  too  happy  in  taking  the  part, 
if  it  were  possible,"  cried  Tom;  "but,  unluckily, 
the  Butler  and  Anhalt  are  in  together.  I  will 
not  entirely  give  it  up,  liowever;  I  will  try  what 
can  be  done — I  will  look  it  over  again." 

"Your  brother  should  take  the  part,"  said  Mr 
Yates,  in  a  low  voice.  "Do  not  you  think  he 
would?" 

r2061 


\ 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"/  shall  not  ask  him,"  replied  Tom,  in  a  cold, 
determined  manner. 

Miss  Crawford  talked  of  something  else,  and 
soon  afterwards  rejoined  the  party  at  the  fire. 

"They  do  not  want  me  at  all,"  said  she,  seating 
herself.  "I  only  puzzle  them,  and  oblige  them  to 
make  civil  speeches.  Mr  Edmund  Bertram,  as 
you  do  not  act  yourself,  you  will  be  a  disin- 
terested adviser;  and,  therefore,  I  apply  to  you. 
What  shall  we  do  for  an  Anhalt?  Is  it  prac- 
ticable for  any  of  the  others  to  double  it?  What 
is  your  advice?" 

"My  advice,"  said  he  calmly,  "is  that  you 
change  the  play." 

"/  should  have  no  objection,"  she  replied;  "for 
though  I  should  not  particularly  dislike  the  part 
of  Amelia,  if  well  supported,  that  is,  if  every- 
thing went  well,  I  shall  be  sorry  to  be  an  incon- 
venience; but  as  they  do  not  choose  to  hear  your 
advice  at  that  table  (looking  round),  it  certainly 
will  not  be  taken." 

Edmund  said  no  more. 

"If  any  part  could  tempt  you  to  act,  I  suppose 
it  would  be  Anhalt,"  observed  the  lady  archly, 
after  a  short  pause;  "for  he  is  a  clergyman,  you 
know." 

''That  circumstance  would  by  no  means  tempt 
me,"  he  rephed,  "for  I  should  be  sorry  to  make 
the  character  ridiculous  by  bad  acting.  It  must  be 

[207] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

very  difficult  to  keep  Anhalt  from  apearing  a 
formal,  solemn  lecturer;  and  the  man  who  chooses 
the  j)rofession  itself,  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  last 
who  would  wish  to  represent  it  on  the  stage." 

Miss  Crawford  was  silenced,  and  with  some 
feelings  of  resentment  and  mortification,  moved 
her  chair  considerably  nearer  the  tea-table,  and 
gave  all  her  attention  to  Mrs  Norris,  who  was 
presiding  there. 

"Fanny,"  cried  Tom  Bertram,  from  the  other 
table,  where  the  conference  was  eagerly  carrying 
on,  and  the  conversation  incessant,  "we  want  your 
services." 

Fanny  was  up  in  a  moment,  expecting  some 
errand;  for  the  habit  of  employing  her  in  that 
way  was  not  yet  overcome,  in  spite  of  all  that 
Edmund  could  do. 

"Oh !  we  do  not  want  to  disturb  you  from  your 
seat.  We  do  not  want  your  present  services.  We 
shall  only  want  you  in  our  play.  You  must  be 
Cottager's  wife." 

"Me!"  cried  Fanny,  sitting  do^vn  again  with  a 
most  frightened  look.  "Indeed  you  must  excuse 
me.  I  could  not  act  anything  if  you  were  to  give 
me  the  world.  No,  indeed,  I  cannot  act." 

"Indeed,  but  you  must,  for  we  cannot  excuse 

you.    It  need  not  frighten  you ;  it  is  nothing  of  a 

part,  a  mere  nothing,   not  above  half-a-dozen 

speeches  altogether,  and  it  will  not  much  signify 

[208] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

if  nobody  hears  a  word  you  say,  so  you  may  be  as 
creep-mouse  as  you  like,  but  we  must  have  you  to 
look  at." 

"If  j^ou  are  afraid  of  half-a-dozen  speeches," 
cried  Mr  Rushworth,  "what  would  you  do  with 
such  a  part  as  mine?    I  have  forty-two  to  learn." 

"It  is  not  that  I  am  afraid  of  learning  by 
heart,"  said  Fanny,  shocked  to  find  herself  at 
that  moment  the  only  speaker  in  the  room,  and  to 
feel  that  almost  every  eye  was  upon  her;  "but  I 
really  cannot  act." 

"Yes,  yes,  you  can  act  well  enough  for  us. 
Learn  your  part,  and  we  will  teach  you  all  the 
rest.  You  have  only  two  scenes,  and  as  I  shall  be 
Cottager,  I'll  put  you  in  and  push  you  about,  and 
you  will  do  it  very  well,  I'll  answer  for  it." 

"No,  indeed,  Mr  Bertram,  you  must  excuse 
me.  You  cannot  have  an  idea.  It  would  be  ab- 
solutely imposible  for  me.  If  I  were  to  under- 
take it,  I  should  only  disappoint  you." 

"Phoo!  Phoo!  Do  not  be  so  shamefaced. 
You'll  do  it  very  well.  Every  allowance  will  be 
made  for  you.  We  do  not  expect  perfection. 
You  must  get  a  brown  gown,  and  a  white  apron, 
and  a  mob  cap,  and  we  must  make  you  a  few 
wrinkles,  and  a  little  of  the  crowsfoot  at  the 
corner  of  your  eyes,  and  you  will  be  a  very 
proper,  little  old  woman." 

"You  must  excuse  me,  indeed  you  must  excuse 

[209] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

me,"  cried  Fanny,  growing  more  and  more  red 
from  excessive  agitation,  and  looking  distress- 
fully at  Edmund,  who  was  kindly  observing  her; 
but  unwilling  to  exasperate  his  brother  by  inter- 
ference, gave  her  only  an  encouraging  smile. 
Her  entreaty  had  no  effect  on  Tom ;  he  only  said 
again  what  he  had  said  before,  and  it  was  not 
merely  Tom,  for  the  requisition  was  now  backed 
by  Maria,  and  JNIr  Crawford,  and  Mr  Yates,  with 
an  urgency  which  differed  from  his  but  in  being 
more  gentle  or  more  ceremonious,  and  which 
altogether  was  quite  overpowering  to  Fanny; 
and  before  she  could  breathe  after  it,  Mrs  Norris 
completed  the  whole,  by  thus  addressing  her  in  a 
whisper  at  once  angry  and  audible: — "What  a 
piece  of  work  here  is  about  nothing,  I  am  quite 
ashamed  of  you,  Fanny,  to  make  such  a  difficulty 
of  obliging  your  cousins  in  a  trifle  of  this  sort — so 
kind  as  they  are  to  you!  Take  the  part  with  a 
good  grace,  and  let  us  hear  no  more  of  the  matter, 
I  entreat." 

"Do  not  urge  her,  madam,"  said  Edmund.  "It 
is  not  fair  to  urge  her  in  this  manner.  You  see 
she  does  not  like  to  act.  I^et  her  choose  for  her- 
self, as  well  as  the  rest  of  us.  Her  judgment 
may  be  quite  as  safely  trusted.  Do  not  urge  her 
any  more." 

"I  am  not  going  to  urge  her,"  replied  Mrs 
Norris  sharply;  "but  I  shall  think  her  a  very 
[210] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

obstinate,  ungrateful  girl,  if  she  does  not  do  what 
her  aunt  and  cousins  wish  her;  very  ungrateful, 
indeed,  considering  who  and  what  she  is." 

Edmund  was  too  angry  to  speak;  but  Miss 
Crawford  looking  for  a  moment  with  astonished 
eyes  at  ]Mrs  Norris,  and  then  at  Fanny,  whose 
tears  were  beginning  to  show  themselves,  im- 
mediately said,  with  some  keenness,  "I  do  not 
like  my  situation;  this  pJace  is  too  hot  for  mxe," 
and  moved  away  her  chair  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  table,  close  to  Fanny,  saying  to  her,  in  a  kind, 
low  whisper,  as  she  placed  herself,  "Never  mind, 
my  dear  ISIiss  Price,  this  is  a  cross  evening ;  every- 
body is  cross  and  teasing,  but  do  not  let  us  mind 
them;"  and  with  pointed  attention  continued  to 
talk  to  her  and  endeavour  to  raise  her  spirits,  in 
spite  of  being  out  of  spirits  herself.  By  a  look  at 
her  brother,  she  prevented  any  farther  entreaty 
from  the  theatrical  board,  and  the  really  good 
feelings  by  which  she  was  almost  purely  gov- 
erned, were  rapidly  restoring  her  to  all  the  little 
she  had  lost  in  Edmund's  favour. 

Fanny  did  not  love  JNIiss  Crawford;  but  she 
felt  very  much  obliged  to  her  for  her  present 
kindness;  and  when,  from  taking  notice  of  her 
work,  and  wishing  she  could  work  as  well,  and 
begging  for  the  pattern,  and  supposing  Fanny 
was  now  preparing  for  her  appearance,  as  of 
course  she  would  come  out  when  her  cousin  was 

[211] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

married,  Miss  Crawford  proceeded  to  inquire  if 
she  had  heard  lately  f  roin  her  brother  at  sea,  and 
said  that  she  had  quite  a  curiosity  to  see  him,  and 
imagined  him  a  very  fine  young  man,  and  ad- 
vised Fanny  to  get  his  picture  drawn  before  he 
went  to  sea  again, — she  could  not  help  admitting 
it  to  be  very  agreeable  flattery,  or  help  listening, 
and  answering  with  more  animation  than  she  had 
intended. 

The  consultation  upon  the  play  still  went  on, 
and  Miss  Crawford's  attention  was  first  called 
from  Fanny,  by  Tom  Bertram's  telling  her,  with 
infinite  regret,  that  he  found  it  absolutely  im- 
possible for  him  to  undertake  the  part  of  Anhalt 
in  addition  to  the  butler:  he  had  been  most  anx- 
iously trying  to  make  it  out  to  be  feasible,  but  it 
would  not  do ;  he  must  give  it  up.  "But  there  will 
not  be  the  smallest  difficulty  in  filling  it,"  he 
added.  "We  have  but  to  speak  the  word ;  we  may 
pick  and  choose.  I  could  name,  at  this  moment, 
at  least  six  young  men  within  six  miles  of  us,  who 
are  wild  to  be  admitted  into  our  company,  and 
there  are  one  or  two  that  w  ould  not  disgrace  us ;  I 
should  not  be  afraid  to  trust  either  of  the  Olivers 
or  Charles  Maddox.  Tom  Oliver  is  a  very  clever 
fellow,  and  Charles  Maddox  is  as  gentlemanlike 
as  you  will  see  anywhere,  so  I  will  take  my  horse 
early  to-morrow  morning,  and  ride  over  to  Stoke, 
and  settle  with  one  of  them." 
[212] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

While  he  spoke,  Maria  was  looking  appre- 
hensively round  at  Edmund  in  full  expectation 
that  he  must  oppose  such  an  enlargement  of  the 
plan  as  this:  so  contrary  to  all  their  first  protes- 
tations; but  Edmund  said  nothing.  After  a 
moment's  thought,  Miss  Crawford  calmly  re- 
plied, "As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  can  have  no 
objection  to  anything  that  you  all  think  eligible. 
Have  I  ever  seen  either  of  the  gentlemen?  Yes, 
Mr  Charles  JNIaddox  dined  at  my  sister's  one  day, 
did  not  he,  Henry?  A  quiet  looking  young  man. 
I  remember  him.  Let  hiiti  be  applied  to,  if  you 
please,  for  it  will  be  less  unpleasant  to  me  than  to 
have  a  perfect  stranger." 

Charles  JNIaddox  was  to  be  the  man.  Tom 
repeated  his  resolution  of  going  to  him  early  on 
the  morrow ;  and  though  Julia,  who  had  scarcely 
opened  her  lips  before,  observed,  in  a  sarcastic 
manner,  and  with  a  glance  first  at  Maria,  and 
then  at  Edmund,  that  "the  Mansfield  theatricals 
would  enliven  the  whole  neighbourhood  exceed- 
ingly," Edmund  still  held  his  peace,  and  showed 
his  feelings  only  by  a  determined  gravity. 

"I  am  not  very  sanguine  as  to  our  play,"  said 
JNIiss  Crawford,  in  an  under  voice  to  Fanny, 
after  some  consideration;  "and  I  can  tell  Mr 
Maddox  that  I  shall  shorten  some  of  his  speeches, 
and  a  great  many  of  my  own,  before  we  rehearse 
together.  It  will  be  very  disagreeable,  and  by  no 
means  what  I  expected." 

[213] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IT  was  not  in  Miss  Crawford's  power  to  talk 
Fanny  into  any  real  forgetfulness  of  what 

had  passed.  When  the  evening  was  over, 
she  went  to  bed  full  of  it,  her  nerves  still  agitated 
by  the  shock  of  such  an  attack  from  her  cousin 
Tom,  so  public  and  so  persevered  in,  and  her 
spirits  sinking  under  her  aunt's  unkind  reflection 
and  reproach.  To  be  called  into  notice  in  such  a 
manner,  to  hear  that  it  was  but  the  prelude  to 
something  so  infinitely  worse,  to  be  told  that  she 
must  do  what  was  so  impossible  as  to  act;  and 
then  to  have  the  charge  of  obstinacy  and  ingrati- 
tude follow  it,  enforced  with  such  a  hint  at  the 
dependence  of  her  situation,  had  been  too  dis- 
tressing at  the  time  to  make  the  remembrance 
when  she  was  alone  much  less  so,  especially  A\dth 
the  superadded  dread  of  what  the  morrow  might 
produce  in  continuation  of  the  subject.  Miss 
Crawford  had  protected  her  only  for  the  time; 
and  if  she  were  applied  to  again  among  themselves 
with  all  the  authoritative  urgency  that  Tom  and 
Maria  were  capable  of,  and  Edmund  perhaps 
away,  what  should  she  do?  She  fell  asleep  before 
she  could  answer  the  question,  and  found  it  quite 
as  puzzling  when  slie  awoke  the  next  morning. 
The  little  white  attic,  which  had  continued  her 

[214] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

sleeping  room  ever  since  her  first  entering  the 
family,  proving  incompetent  to  suggest  any 
reply,  she  had  recourse,  as  soon  as  she  was 
dressed,  to  another  apartment  more  spacious  and 
more  meet  for  walking  about  in  and  thinking, 
and  of  which  she  had  now  for  some  time  been 
almost  equally  mistress.  It  had  been  their  school- 
room; so  called  till  the  ]\Iiss  Bertrams  would  not 
allow  it  to  be  called  so  any  longer,  and  inhabited 
as  such  to  a  later  period.  There  Miss  Lee  had 
lived,  and  there  they  had  read  and  written,  and 
talked  and  laughed,  till  within  the  last  three 
years,  when  she  had  quitted  them.  The  room  had 
then  become  useless,  and  for  some  time  was 
quite  deserted,  except  by  Fanny,  when  she  visited 
her  plants,  or  wanted  one  of  the  books,  which  she 
was  still  glad  to  keep  there,  from  the  deficiency 
of  space  and  accommodation  in  her  little  chamber 
above:  but  gradually,  as  her  value  for  the  com- 
forts of  it  increased,  she  had  added  to  her  pos- 
sessions, and  spent  more  of  her  time  there;  and 
having  nothing  to  oppose  her,  had  so  naturally 
and  so  artlessly  worked  herself  into  it,  that  it  was 
now  generally  admitted  to  be  her's.  The  East 
room,  as  it  had  been  called  ever  since  Maria 
Bertram  was  sixteen,  was  now  considered 
Fanny's,  almost  as  decidedly  as  the  white  attic: 
the  smallness  of  the  one  making  the  use  of  the 
other   so    evidently    reasonable,    that    the    Miss 

[215] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Bertrams,  with  every  superiority  in  their  own 
apartments,  which  their  own  sense  of  superiority 
could  demand,  were  entirely  approving  it;  and 
Mrs  Norris,  having  stipulated  for  there  never 
being  a  fire  in  it  on  Fanny's  account,  was  tolera- 
bly resigned  to  her  having  the  use  of  what 
nobody  else  wanted,  though  the  terms  in  which 
she  sometimes  spoke  of  the  indulgence  seemed  to 
imply  that  it  was  the  best  room  in  the  house. 

The  aspect  was  so  favourable,  that  even 
without  a  fire  it  was  habitable  in  many  an  early 
spring  and  late  autumn  morning,  to  such  a 
willing  mind  as  Fanny's;  and  while  there  was  a 
gleam  of  sunshine,  she  hoped  not  to  be  driven 
from  it  entirely,  even  when  winter  came.  The 
comfort  of  it  in  her  hours  of  leisure  was  extreme. 
She  could  go  there  after  anything  unpleasant 
below,  and  find  immediate  consolation  in  some 
pursuit,  or  some  train  of  thought  at  hand.  Her 
plants,  her  books — of  which  she  had  been  a  col- 
lector from  the  first  hour  of  her  commanding  a 
shilling — her  writing-desk,  and  her  works  of 
charity  and  ingenuity,  were  all  within  her  reach; 
or  if  indisposed  for  employment,  if  nothing  but 
musing  would  do,  she  could  scarcely  see  an  ob- 
ject in  that  room  which  had  not  an  interesting 
remembrance  connected  with  it.  Everything  was 
a  friend,  or  bore  her  thoughts  to  a  friend;  and 
though  there  had  been  sometimes  much  of  suf- 
[216] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

f ering  to  her ;  though  her  motives  had  often  been 
misunderstood,  her  f  eehngs  disregarded,  and  her 
comprehension  undervalued;  though  she  had 
known  the  pains  of  tyranny,  or  ridicule,  and  neg- 
lect; yet  almost  every  recurrence  of  either  had 
led  to  something  consolatory;  her  aunt  Bertram 
had  spoken  for  her,  or  Miss  Lee  had  been  en- 
couraging, or,  what  was  yet  more  frequent  or 
more  dear,  Edmund  had  been  her  champion  and 
her  friend,  he  had  supported  her  cause  or  ex- 
plained her  meaning ;  he  had  told  her  not  to  cry, 
or  had  given  her  some  proof  of  affection  which 
made  her  tears  delightful,  and  the  whole  was  now 
so  blended  together,  so  harmonized  by  distance, 
that  every  former  affliction  had  its  charm.  The 
room  was  most  dear  to  her,  and  she  would  not 
have  changed  its  furniture  for  the  handsomest  in 
the  house,  though  what  had  been  originally  plain, 
had  suffered  all  the  ill-usage  of  children ;  and  its 
greatest  elegancies  and  ornaments  were  a  faded 
footstool  of  Julia's  work,  too  ill  done  for  the 
drawing-room,  three  transparencies,  made  in  a 
rage  for  transparencies,  for  the  three  lower  panes 
of  one  window,  where  Tintern  Abbey  held  its 
station  between  a  cave  in  Italy  and  a  moonlight 
lake  in  Cumberland,  a  collection  of  family  pro- 
files, thought  unworthy  of  being  anywhere  else, 
over  the  mantle-piece,  and  by  their  side,  and  pin- 
ned against  the  wall,  a  small  sketch  of  a  ship  sent 

[217] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

four  years  ago  from  the  Mediterranean  by 
William,  with  H.  M.  S.  Antwerp  at  the  bottom, 
in  letters  as  tall  as  the  main-mast. 

To  this  nest  of  comforts  Fanny  now  walked 
down  to  try  its  influence  on  an  agitated,  doubt- 
ing spirit,  to  see  if  by  looking  at  Edmund's  pro- 
file she  could  catch  any  of  his  counsel,  or  by  giv- 
ing air  to  her  geraniums  she  might  inhale  a  breeze 
of  mental  strength  herself.  But  she  had  more 
than  fears  of  her  own  perseverance  to  remove: 
she  had  begun  to  feel  undecided  as  to  what  she 
ought  to  do;  and  as  she  walked  round  the  room 
her  doubts  were  increasing.  Was  she  right  in 
refusing  what  was  so  warmly  asked,  so  strongly 
wished  for — what  might  be  so  essential  to  a 
scheme  on  which  some  of  those  to  whom  she  owed 
the  greatest  complaisance  had  set  their  hearts? 
Was  it  not  ill-nature,  selfishness,  and  a  fear  of 
exposing  herself?  And  would  Edmund's  judg- 
ment, would  his  persuasion  of  Sir  Thomas's  dis- 
approbation of  the  whole,  be  enough  to  justify 
her  in  a  determined  denial  in  spite  of  all  the  rest? 
It  would  be  so  horrible  to  her  to  act,  that  she  was 
inclined  to  suspect  the  truth  and  purity  of  her 
own  scruples;  and  as  she  looked  around  her,  the 
claims  of  her  cousins  to  being  obliged  were 
strengthened  by  the  sight  of  present  upon  present 
that  she  had  received  from  them.  The  table 
between  the  windows  was  covered  with  work- 
[218] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

boxes  and  netting-boxes  which  had  been  given 
her  at  different  times,  principally  by  Tom;  and 
she  grew  bewildered  as  to  the  amount  of  the  debt 
which  all  these  kind  remembrances  produced. 
A  tap  at  the  door  roused  her  in  the  midst  of  this 
attempt  to  find  her  way  to  her  duty,  and  her  gen- 
tle "come  in"  was  answered  by  the  appearance 
of  one,  before  whom  all  her  doubts  were  wont  to 
be  laid.  Her  eyes  brightened  at  the  sight  of 
Edmund. 

"Can  I  speak  with  you,  Fanny,  for  a  few  min- 
utes?" said  he. 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"I  want  to  consult.     I  want  your  opinion." 

"My  opinion!"  she  cried,  shrinking  from  such 
a  compliment,  highly  as  it  gratified  her. 

"Yes,  your  advice  and  opinion.  I  do  not  know 
what  to  do.  This  acting  scheme  gets  worse  and 
worse,  you  see.  They  have  chosen  almost  as  bad 
a  play  as  they  could,  and  now,  to  complete  the 
business,  are  going  to  ask  the  help  of  a  young 
man  very  slightly  known  to  any  of  us.  This  is 
the  end  of  all  the  privacy  and  propriety  which 
was  talked  about  at  first.  I  know  no  harm  of 
Charles  INIaddox;  but  the  excessive  intimacy 
which  must  spring  from  his  being  admitted 
among  us  in  this  manner  is  highly  objectionable, 
the  more  than  intimacy — the  familiarity.  I  can- 
not think  of  it  with  any  patience ;  and  it  does  ap- 

[219] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

pear  to  me  an  evil  of  such  magnitude  as  must, 
if  possible,  be  prevented.  Do  not  you  see  it  in 
the  same  hght?" 

"Yes;  but  what  can  be  done?  Your  brother 
is  so  determined?" 

"There  is  but  one  thing  to  be  done,  Fanny. 
I  must  take  Anhalt  myself.  I  am  well  aware 
that  nothing  else  will  quiet  Tom." 

Fanny  could  not  answer  him. 

"It  is  not  at  all  what  I  like,"  he  continued. 
"No  man  can  like  being  driven  into  the  appear- 
ance of  such  inconsistency.  After  being  known 
to  oppose  the  scheme  from  the  beginning,  there 
is  absurdity  in  the  face  of  my  joining  them  now, 
when  they  are  exceeding  their  first  plan  in  every 
respect;  but  I  can  think  of  no  other  alternative. 
Can  you,  Fanny?" 

"No,"  said  Fanny  slowl3%  "not  immediately, 
but " 

"But  what?  I  see  your  judgment  is  not  with 
me.  Think  it  a  little  over.  Perhaps  you  are 
not  so  much  aware  as  I  am  of  the  mischief  that 
may,  of  the  unpleasantness  that  vinst  arise  from 
a  young  man's  being  received  in  this  manner; 
domesticated  among  us;  authorized  to  come  at 
all  hours,  and  placed  suddenly  on  a  footing  which 
must  do  away  all  restraints.  To  think  only  of 
the  license  which  every  rehearsal  must  tend  to 
create.  It  is  all  very  bad !  Put  yourself  in  Miss 
[220] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Crawford's  place,  Fanny.  Consider  what  it 
would  be  to  act  Amelia  with  a  stranger.  She 
has  a  right  to  be  felt  for,  because  she  evidently 
feels  for  herself.  I  heard  enough  of  what  she 
said  to  j^ou  last  night,  to  understand  her  unwill- 
ingness to  be  acting  with  a  stranger;  and  as  she 
probably  engaged  in  the  part  with  different  ex- 
pectations— perhaps  without  considering  the  sub- 
ject enough  to  know  what  was  likely  to  be — it 
would  be  ungenerous,  it  would  be  really  wrong 
to  expose  her  to  it.  Her  feelings  ought  to  be 
respected.  Does  it  not  strike  you  so,  Fanny? 
You  hesitate." 

"I  am  sorry  for  ]\Iiss  Crawford;  but  I  am  more 
sorry  to  see  you  drawn  in  to  do  what  you  had 
resolved  against,  and  what  you  are  known  to 
think  will  be  disagreeable  to  my  uncle.  It  will 
be  such  a  triumph  to  the  others!" 

"They  will  not  have  much  cause  of  triumph 
when  they  see  how  infamously  I  act.  But,  how- 
ever, triumph  there  certainly  will  be,  and  I  must 
brave  it.  But  if  I  can  be  the  means  of  restrain- 
ing the  publicity  of  the  business,  of  limiting  the 
exhibition,  of  concentrating  our  folly,  I  shall  be 
well  repaid.  As  I  am  now,  I  have  no  influence, 
I  can  do  nothing :  I  have  offended  them,  and  they 
will  not  hear  me;  but  when  I  have  put  them  in 
good  humor  by  this  concession,  I  am  not  without 
hopes  of  persuading  them  to  confine  the  repre- 

[221] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

sentation  within  a  much  smaller  circle  than  they 
are  now  in  the  high  road  for.  This  will  be  a  ma- 
terial gain.  My  object  is  to  confine  it  to  Mrs 
Rush  worth  and  the  Grants.  Will  not  this  be 
worth  gaining?" 

"Yes,  it  will  be  a  great  point." 

"But  still  it  has  not  your  approbation.  Can 
you  mention  any  other  measure  by  which  I  have 
a  chance  of  doing  equal  good?" 

"No,  I  cannot  think  of  anything  else." 

"Give  me  your  approbation,  then,  Fanny.  I 
am  not  comfortable  without  it." 

"Oh,  cousin!" 

"If  you  are  against  me,  I  ought  to  distrust 
myself,  and  yet .  But  it  is  absolutely  im- 
possible to  let  Tom  go  on  in  this  way,  riding 
about  the  country  in  quest  of  anybody  who  can 
be  persuaded  to  act — no  matter  whom:  the  look 
of  a  gentleman  is  to  be  enough.  I  thought  you 
would  have  entered  more  into  Miss  Crawford's 
feelings." 

"No  doubt  she  will  be  very  glad.  It  must  be 
a  great  relief  to  her,"  said  Fanny,  trying  for 
greater  warmth  of  manner. 

"She  never  appeared  more  amiable  than  in  her 
behaviour  to  you  last  night.  It  gave  her  a  very 
strong  claim  on  my  good- will." 

"She  was  very  kind,  indeed,  and  I  am  glad  to 
have  her  spared — " 
[222] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

She  could  not  finish  the  generous  effusion. 
Her  conscience  stopt  her  in  the  middle,  but  Ed- 
mund was  satisfied. 

"  I  shall  walk  down  immediately  after  break- 
fast," said  he,  "and  am  sure  of  giving  pleasure 
there.  And  now,  dear  Fanny,  I  will  not  inter- 
rupt you  any  longer.  You  want  to  be  reading. 
But  I  could  not  be  easy  till  I  had  spoken  to  you, 
and  come  to  a  decision.  Sleeping  or  waking, 
my  head  has  been  full  of  this  matter  all  night. 
It  is  an  evil,  but  I  am  certainly  making  it  less 
than  it  might  be.  If  Tom  is  up,  I  shall  go  to 
him  directly  and  get  it  over,  and  when  we  meet 
at  breakfast  we  shall  be  all  in  high  good  humour 
at  the  prospect  of  acting  the  fool  together  with 
such  unanimity.  You  in  the  meanwhile  will  be 
taking  a  trip  into  China,  I  suppose.  How  does 
Lord  Macartney  go  on?  (opening  a  volume  on 
the  table  and  then  taking  up  some  others.) 
And  here  are  Crabbe's  Tales,  and  the  Idler,  at 
hand  to  relieve  you,  if  you  tire  of  your  great 
book.  I  admire  your  little  establishment  ex- 
ceedingly; and  as  soon  as  I  am  gone,  you  will 
empty  your  head  of  all  this  nonsense  of  acting, 
and  sit  comfortably  down  to  your  table.  But 
do  not  stay  here  to  be  cold." 

He  went ;  but  there  was  no  reading,  no  China, 
no  composure  for  Fanny.  He  had  told  her  the 
most  extraordinary,  the  most  inconceivable,  the 

[223] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

most  unwelcome  news;  and  she  could  think  of 
nothing  else.  To  be  acting!  After  all  his  ob- 
jections— objections  so  just  and  so  public!  Af- 
ter all  that  she  had  heard  him  say,  and  seen  him 
look,  and  known  him  to  be  feeling.  Could  it 
be  possible?  Edmund  so  inconsistent!  Was  he 
not  deceiving  himself?  Was  he  not  wrong?  Alas! 
it  was  all  Miss  Crawford's  doing.  She  had 
seen  her  influence  in  every  speech,  and  was  mis- 
erable. The  doubts  and  alarms  as  to  her  own 
conduct,  which  had  previously  distressed  her,  and 
which  had  all  slept  while  she  listened  to  him, 
were  become  of  little  consequence  now.  This 
deeper  anxiety  swallowed  them  up.  Things 
should  take  their  course;  she  cared  not  how  it 
ended.  Her  cousins  might  attack,  but  could 
hardly  tease  her.  She  was  beyond  their  reach; 
and  if  at  last  obliged  to  yield — no  matter — ^it 
was  all  misery  now. 


I 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IT  was,  indeed,  a  triumphant  day  to  Mr  Ber- 
tram and  Maria.     Such  a  victory  over  Ed- 
mund's  discretion  had  been  beyond  their 
hopes,  and  was  most  delightful.     There  was  no 
longer  anything  to  disturb  them  in  their  darling 
[224] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

project,  and  they  congratulated  each  other  in 
private  on  the  jealous  weakness  to  which  they 
attributed  tlie  change,  with  all  the  glee  of  feel- 
ings gratified  in  every  way.  Edmund  might 
still  look  grave,  and  say  he  did  not  like  the  scheme 
in  general,  and  must  disapprove  the  play  in  par- 
ticular ;  their  point  was  gained ;  he  was  to  act,  and 
he  was  driven  to  it  by  the  force  of  selfish  incli- 
nations only.  Edmund  had  descended  from  that 
moral  elevation  which  he  had  maintained  befcr-e, 
and  they  were  both  as  much  the  better  as  the  hap- 
pier for  the  descent. 

They  behaved  very  well,  however,  to  him  on  the 
occasion,  betraying,  no  exultation  beyond  the 
lines  about  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and  seemed 
to  think  it  as  great  an  escape  to  be  quit  of  the 
intrusion  of  Charles  Maddox,  as  if  they  had  been 
forced  into  admitting  him  against  their  inclina- 
tion. "To  have  it  quite  in  their  own  family  cir- 
cle was  what  they  had  particularly  wished.  A 
stranger  among  them  would  have  been  the  de- 
struction of  all  their  comfort;"  and  when  Ed- 
mund, pursuing  that  idea,  gave  a  hint  of  his  hope 
as  to  the  limitation  of  the  audience,  they  were 
ready,  in  the  complaisance  of  the  moment,  to 
promise  anything.  It  was  all  good  humour  and 
encouragement.  Mrs  Norris  offered  to  contrive 
his  dress,  Mr  Yates  assured  him  that  Anhalt's 
last  scene  with  the  Baron  admitted  a  good  deal 
[225] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

of  action  and  emphasis,  and  Mr  Rushworth  un- 
dertook to  count  his  speeches. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Tom,  ''Fanny  may  be  more 
disposed  to  obhge  us  now.  Perhaps  you  may 
persuade  her.'' 

"No,  she  is  quite  determined.  She  certainly 
will  not  act." 

"Oh!  very  well."  And  not  another  word  was 
said;  but  Fanny  felt  herself  again  in  danger, 
and  her  indifference  to  the  danger  was  begin- 
ning to  fail  her  already. 

There  were  not  fewer  smiles  at  the  Parsonage 
than  at  the  Park  on  this  change  in  Edmund; 
Miss  Crawford  looked  very  lovely  in  her's,  and 
entered  with  such  an  instantaneous  renewal  of 
cheerfulness  into  the  whole  affair,  as  could  have 
but  one  effect  on  him.  "He  was  certainly  right 
in  respecting  such  feelings;  he  was  glad  he  had 
determined  on  it."  And  the  morning  wore  away 
in  satisfactions  very  sweet,  if  not  very  sound. 
One  advantage  resulted  from  it  to  Fanny ;  at  the 
earnest  request  of  Miss  Crawford,  Mrs.  Grant 
had,  with  her  usual  good  humour,  agreed  to  un- 
dertake the  part  for  which  Fanny  had  been  want- 
ed; and  this  was  all  that  occured  to  gladden  her 
heart  during  the  day;  and  even  this,  when  im- 
parted by  Edmund,  brought  a  pang  with  it,  for 
it  was  Miss  Crawford  to  whom  she  was  obliged; 
it  was  Miss  Crawford  whose  kind  exertions  were 
[226] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

to  excite  her  gratitude,  and  whose  merit  in  mak- 
ing them  was  spoken  of  with  a  glow  of  admira- 
tion. She  was  safe;  but  peace  and  safety  were 
unconnected  here.  Her  mind  had  been  never 
farther  from  peace.  She  could  not  feel  that 
she  had  done  wrong  herself,  but  she  was  dis- 
quieted in  every  other  way.  Her  heart  and  her 
judgment  were  equally  against  Edmund's  de- 
cision: she  could  not  acquit  his  unsteadiness,  and 
his  happiness  under  it  made  her  wretched.  She 
was  full  of  jealousy  and  agitation.  Miss  Craw- 
ford came  with  looks  of  gaiety  which  seemed  an 
insult,  with  friendly  expressions  towards  herself 
which  she  could  hardly  answer  calmly.  Every- 
body around  her  was  gay  and  busy,  prosperous 
and  important;  each  had  their  object  of  interest, 
their  part,  their  dress,  their  favourite  scene,  their 
friends  and  confederates:  all  were  finding  em- 
ployment in  consultations  and  comparisons,  or 
diversions  in  the  playful  conceits  they  suggested. 
She  alone  was  sad  and  insignificant;  she  had  no 
share  in  anything;  she  might  go  or  stay;  she 
might  be  in  the  midst  of  their  noise,  or  retreat 
from  it  to  the  solitude  of  the  East  room,  without 
being  seen  or  missed.  She  could  almost  think 
anything  would  have  been  preferable  to  this. 
Mrs  Grant  was  of  consequence :  her  good  nature 
had  honourable  mention:  her  taste  and  her  time 
were  considered;  her  presence  was  wanted;  she 

[227] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

was  sought  for  and  attended,  and  praised;  and 
Fanny  was  at  first  in  some  danger  of  envying 
her  the  character  she  had  accepted.  But  re- 
flection brought  better  feehngs,  and  shewed  her 
that  Mrs  Grant  was  entitled  to  respect,  which 
could  never  have  belonged  to  her;  and  that,  had 
she  received  even  the  greatest,  she  could  never 
have  been  easy  in  joining  a  scheme  which,  con- 
sidering only  her  uncle,  she  must  condemn  al- 
together. 

Fanny's  heart  w-as  not  absolutely  the  only  sad- 
dened one  amongst  them,  as  she  soon  began  to 
acknowledge  to  herself.  Julia  was  a  sufferer, 
too,  though  not  quite  so  blamelessly. 

Henry  Crawford  had  trifled  with  her  feel- 
ings; but  she  had  very  long  allow^ed,  and  even 
sought  his  attentions  with  a  jealousy  of  her  sister 
so  reasonable  as  ought  to  have  been  their  cure; 
and  now  that  the  conviction  of  his  preference 
for  Maria  had  been  forced  on  her,  she  submitted 
to  it  without  any  alarm  for  Maria's  situation,  or 
any  endeavour  at  rational  tranquillity  for  her- 
self. She  either  sat  in  gloomy  silence,  wrapt 
in  such  gravity  as  nothing  could  subdue,  no 
curiosity  touch,  no  wit  amuse;  or  allowing  the 
attentions  of  Mr  Yates,  was  talking  with  forced 
gaiety  to  him  alone,  and  ridiculing  the  acting  of 
the  others. 

For  a  day  or  two  after  the  affront  was  given 
[228] 


i 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Henry  Crawford  had  endeavoured  to  do  it  away 
by  the  usual  attack  of  gallantry  and  compliment, 
but  he  had  not  cared  enough  about  it  to  perse- 
vere against  a  few  repulses;  and  becoming  soon 
too  busy  witH  his  play  to  have  time  for  more  than 
one  flirtation,  he  grew  indifferent  to  the  quarrel, 
or  rather  thought  it  a  lucky  occurrence,  as  quiet- 
ly putting  an  end  to  what  might  ere  long  have 
raised  expectations  in  more  than  Mrs  Grant. 
She  was  not  pleased  to  see  Julia  excluded  from 
the  play,  and  sitting  by  disregarded;  but  as  it 
was  not  a  matter  which  really  involved  her  hap- 
piness, as  Henry  must  be  the  best  judge  of  his 
own,  and  as  he  did  assure  her,  with  a  most  per- 
suasive smile,  that  neither  he  nor  Julia  had  ever 
had  a  serious  thought  of  each  other,  she  could 
only  renew  her  former  caution  as  to  the  elder 
sister,  entreat  him  not  to  risk  his  tranquillity  by 
too  much  admiration  there,  and  then  gladly  take 
her  share  in  anything  that  brought  cheerfulness 
to  the  young  people  in  general,  and  that  did  so 
particularly  promote  the  pleasure  of  the  two  so 
dear  to  her. 

"I  rather  wonder  Julia  is  not  in  love  with 
Henry,"  was  her  observation  to  Mary. 

"I  dare  say  she  is,"  replied  Mary  coldly.     "I 
imagine  both  sisters  are." 

"Both!  no,  no,  that  must  not  be.     Do  not  give 
him  a  hint  of  it.   Think  of  Mr  Rushworth!" 

[229] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"You  had  better  tell  Miss  Bertram  to  think  of 
Mr  Rushworth.  It  may  do  her  some  good.  I 
often  think  of  Mr  Rushworth's  property  and 
independence,  and  wish  them  in  other  hands ;  but 
I  never  think  of  him.  A  man  might  escape  n 
profession  and  represent  the  county." 

"I  dare  say  he  will  be  in  parliament  soon. 
When  Sir  Thomas  comes,  I  dare  say  he  will  be 
in  for  some  borough,  but  there  has  been  nobody 
to  put  him  in  the  way  of  doing  anything  yet." 

"Sir  Thomas  is  to  achieve  many  mighty  things 
when  he  comes  home,"  said  Mary,  after  a  pause. 
"Do  you  remember  Hawkins  Browne's  'Address 
to  Tobacco,'  in  imitation  of  Pope? — 

'  Blest  leaf !  whose  aromatic  gales  dispense 
To  Templars  modesty,  to  Parsons  sense.' 

I  will  parody  them — 

Blest  Klnight !  whose  dictatorial  looks  dispense 
To  Children  affluence,  to  Rushworth  sense. 

Will  not  that  do,  Mrs  Grant?  Everything 
seems  to  depend  upon  Sir  Thomas's  return." 
"You  will  find  his  consequence  very  just  and 
reasonable  when  you  see  him  in  his  family,  I  as- 
sure you.  I  do  not  think  we  do  so  well  without 
him.  He  has  a  fine  dignified  manner,  which  suits 
the  head  of  such  a  house,  and  keeps  everybody 
in  their  place.  Lady  Bertram  seems  more  of  a 
cypher  now  than  when  he  is  at  home ;  and  nobody 
else  can  keep  Mrs.Norris  in  order.  But,  Mary, 
[230] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

do  not  fancy  that  Maria  Bertram  cares  for 
Henry.  I  am  sure  Julia  does  not,  or  she  would 
not  have  flirted  as  she  did  last  night  with  Mr 
Yates;  and  though  he  and  Maria  are  very  good 
friends,  I  think  she  likes  Sotherton  too  well  to 
be  inconstant." 

"I  would  not  give  much  for  Mr  Rushworth's 
chance,  if  Henry  stept  in  before  the  articles  were 
signed." 

"  If  you  have  such  a  suspicion,  something  must 
be  done;  and  as  soon  as  the  play  is  all  over,  we 
will  talk  to  him  seriously,  and  make  him  know  his 
own  mind ;  and  if  he  means  nothing,  we  will  send 
him  off,  though  he  is  Henry,  for  a  time." 

Julia  did  suffer,  however,  though  Mrs  Grant 
discerned  it  not,  and  though  it  escaped  the  notice 
of  many  of  her  own  family  likewise.  She  had 
loved,  she  did  love  still,  and  she  had  all  the  suiFer- 
ing  which  a  warm  temper  and  a  high  spirit  were 
likely  to  endure  under  the  disappointment  of  a 
dear,  though  irrational  hope,  with  a  strong  sense 
of  ill-usage.  Her  heart  was  sore  and  angry, 
and  she  was  capable  only  of  angry  consolations. 
The  sister  with  whom  she  was  used  to  be  on  easy 
terms  was  now  become  her  greatest  enemy:  they 
were  alienated  from  each  other ;  and  Julia  was  not 
superior  to  the  hope  of  some  distressing  end  to 
the  attentions  which  were  still  carrying  on  there, 
some  punishment  to  Maria  for  conduct  so  shame- 

[231] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

f ul  towards  herself  as  well  as  towards  Mr  Rush- 
worth.  With  no  material  fault  of  temper,  or 
difference  of  opinion,  to  prevent  their  being  very- 
good  friends  while  their  interests  were  the  same, 
the  sisters,  under  such  a  trial  as  this,  had  not  af- 
fection or  principle  enough  to  make  them  mer- 
ciful or  just,  to  give  them  honour  or  compassion. 
JNIaria  felt  her  triumph,  and  pursued  her  purpose, 
careless  of  Julia ;  and  Julia  could  never  see  Maria 
distinguished  by  Henry  Crawford  without  trust- 
ing that  it  would  create  jealousy,  and  bring  a 
public  disturbance  at  last. 

Fanny  saw  and  pitied  much  of  this  in  Julia; 
but  there  was  no  outward  fellowship  between 
them.  Julia  made  no  communication,  and  Fanny 
took  no  liberties.  They  were  two  solitary  suffer- 
ers, or  connected  only  by  Fanny's  consciousness. 

The  inattention  of  the  two  brothers  and  the 
aunt  to  Julia's  discomposure,  and  their  blindness 
to  its  true  cause,  must  be  imputed  to  the  fulness 
of  their  own  minds.  They  were  totally  preoc- 
cupied. Tom  was  engrossed  by  the  concerns  of 
his  theatre,  and  saw  nothing  that  did  not  imme- 
diately relate  to  it.  Edmund,  between  his  theat- 
rical and  his  real  part — between  ISIiss  Craw- 
ford's claims  and  his  own  conduct — between  love 
and  consistency,  was  equally  unobservant;  and 
Mrs  Norris  was  too  busy  in  contriving  and  di- 
recting the  general  little  matters  of  the  company, 
[232] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

superintending  their  various  dresses  with  econom- 
ical expedient,  for  which  nobody  thanked  her, 
and  saving,  with  dehghted  integrity,  half-a- 
crown  here  and  there  to  the  absent  Sir  Thomas, 
to  have  leisure  for  watching  the  behaviour,  or 
guarding  the  happiness  of  his  daughters. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

EVERYTHING  was  now  in  a  regular  train ; 
theatre,  actors,  actresses,  and  dresses,  were 
all  getting  forward;  but  though  no  other 
great  impediments  arose,  Fanny  found,  before 
man}?"  days  were  past,  that  it  was  not  all  uninter- 
rupted enjoyment  to  the  party  themselves,  and 
that  she  had  not  to  witness  the  continuance  of 
such  unanimity  and  delight,  as  had  been  almost 
too  much  for  her  at  first.  Everybody  began  to 
have  their  vexation.  Edmund  had  many.  En- 
tirely against  his  judgment,  a  scene-painter  ar- 
rived from  town,  and  was  at  work,  much  to  the 
increase  of  the  expenses,  and,  what  was  worse, 
of  the  eclat  of  their  proceedings;  and  his  brother, 
instead  of  being  really  guided  by  him  as  to  the 
privacy  of  the  representation,  was  giving  an  in- 
vitation to  every  family  who  came  in  his  way. 
Tom  himself  began  to  fret  over  the  scene-paint- 

[233] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

er's  slow  progress,  and  to  feel  the  miseries  of 
waiting.  He  had  learned  his  part— all  his  parts, 
for  he  took  every  trifling  one  that  could  be  united 
with  the  butler,  and  began  to  be  impatient  to 
be  acting;  and  every  day  thus  unemployed  was 
tending  to  increase  his  sense  of  the  insignificance 
of  all  his  parts  together,  and  make  him  more 
ready  to  regret  that  some  other  play  had  not  been 
chosen. 

Fanny,  being  always  a  very  courteous  listener, 
and  often  the  only  listener  at  hand,  come  in  for 
the  complaints  and  the  distresses  of  most  of  them. 
She  knew  that  Mr  Yates  was  in  general  thought 
to  rant  dreadfully;  that  Mr  Yates  was  disap- 
pointed in  Henry  Crawford;  that  Tom  Bertram 
spoke  so  quick  he  would  be  unintelligible;  that 
Mrs  Grant  spoiled  everything  by  laughing;  that 
Edmund  was  behind-hand  with  his  part,  and  that 
it  was  a  misery  to  have  anything  to  do  with  Mr 
Rushworth,     who    was     wanting    a    prompter 
through  every  speech.     She  knew,  also,  that  poor 
Mr  Rushworth  could  seldom  get  anybody  to  re- 
hearse with  him :  his  complaint  came  before  her  as 
well  as  the  rest;  and  so  decided  to  her  eye  was 
her  cousin   Maria's  avoidance   of  him,   and  so 
needlessly  often  the  rehearsal  of  the  first  scene 
between  her  and  INIr  Crawford,    that    she    had 
soon  all  the  terror  of  other  complaints  from  him. 
So  far  from  being  all  satisfied  and  all  enjoying, 
[234] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

she  found  everybody  requiring  something  they 
had  not,  and  giving  occasion  of  discontent  to  the 
others.  Everybody  had  a  part  either  too  long 
or  too  short ;  nobody  would  attend  as  they  ought ; 
nobody  would  remember  on  which  side  they  were 
to  come  in ;  nobody  but  the  complainer  would  ob- 
serve any  directions. 

Fanny  believed  herself  to  derive  as  much  in- 
nocent enjoyment  from  the  play  as  any  of  them; 
Henry  Crawford  acted  well,  and  it  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  her  to  creep  into  the  theatre,  and  attend 
the  rehearsal  of  the  first  act,  in  spite  of  the  feel- 
ings it  excited  in  some  speeches  for  Maria. 
Maria,  she  also  thought,  acted  well,  too  well ;  and 
after  the  first  rehearsal  or  two,  Fanny  began  to 
be  their  only  audience,  and  sometimes  as  prompt- 
er, sometimes  as  spectator,  was  often  very  useful. 
As  far  as  she  could  judge,  Mr  Crawford  was 
considerably  the  best  actor  of  all;  he  had  more 
confidence  than  Edmund,  more  judgment  than 
Tom,  more  talent  and  taste  than  Mr  Yates. 
She  did  not  like  him  as  a  man,  but  she  must  ad- 
mit him  to  be  the  best  actor,  and  on  this  point 
there  were  not  many  who  differed  from  her. 
Mr  Yates,  indeed,  exclaimed  against  his  tame- 
ness  and  insipidity;  and  the  day  came  at  las^ 
when  Mr  Rushworth  turned  to  her  with  a  black 
look,  and  said,  "Do  you  think  there  is  anything 
so  very  fine  in  all  this?   For  the  life  and  soul  of 

[235] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

me,  I  cannot  admire  him;  and  between  our- 
selves, to  see  such  an  undersized,  Httle,  mean- 
looking  man,  set  up  for  a  fine  actor  is  very 
ridiculous  in  my  opinion." 

From  this  moment  there  was  a  return  of  his 
former  jealousy,  which  Maria,  from  increasing 
hopes  of  Crawford,  was  at  little  pains  to  remove, 
and  the  chances  of  Mr  Rushworth's  ever  attain- 
ing to  the  knowledge  of  his  two-and- forty 
speeches  became  much  less.  As  to  his  ever  mak- 
ing anything  tolerable  of  them,  nobody  had  the 
smallest  idea  of  that  except  his  mother;  she,  in- 
deed, regretted  that  his  part  was  not  more  con- 
siderable, and  deferred  coming  over  to  Mans- 
field till  they  were  forward  enough  in  their  re- 
hearsal to  comprehend  all  his  scenes;  but  the 
others  aspired  at  nothing  beyond  his  remember- 
ing the  catch-word,  and  the  first  line  of  his  speech, 
and  being  able  to  follow  the  prompter  through 
the  rest.  Fanny,  in  her  pity  and  kind-heart- 
edness, was  at  great  pains  to  teach  him  how  to 
learn,  giving  him  all  the  helps  and  directions  in 
her  power,  trying  to  make  an  artificial  memory 
for  him,  and  learning  every  word  of  his  part 
herself,  but  without  his  being  much  the  for- 
warder. 

Many  uncomfortable,  anxious,  apprehensive 
feelings  she  certainly  had ;  but  with  all  these,  and 
other  claims  on  her  time  and  attention,  she  was 
[236] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

as  far  from  finding  herself  without  employment 
or  utility  amongst  them,  as  without  a  companion 
in  uneasiness;  quite  as  far  from  having  no  de- 
mand on  her  leisure  as  on  her  compassion.  The 
gloom  of  her  first  anticipations  was  proved  to 
have  been  unfounded.  She  was  occasionally 
useful  to  all;  she  was  perhaps  as  much  at  peace 
as  any. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  needlework  to  be 
done,  moreover,  in  which  her  help  was  wanted; 
and  that  Mrs  Norris  thought  her  quite  as  well 
off  as  the  rest,  was  evident  by  the  manner  in 
which  she  claimed  it: — "Come,  Fanny,"  she  cried, 
"these  are  fine  times  for  you,  but  you  must  not 
be  always  walking  from  one  room  to  the  other, 
and  doing  the  lookings-on  at  your  ease,  in  this 
way ;  I  want  you  here.  I  have  been  slaving  my- 
self till  I  can  hardly  stand,  to  contrive  Mr  Rush- 
worth's  cloak  without  sending  for  any  more  satin ; 
and  now  I  think  you  may  give  me  your  help 
in  putting  it  together.  There  are  but  three 
seams,  you  may  do  them  in  a  trice.  It  would  be 
lucky  for  me  if  I  had  nothing  but  the  executive 
part  to  do.  You  are  best  off,  I  can  tell  you :  but 
if  nobody  did  more  than  you,  we  should  not  get 
on  very  fast." 

Fanny  took  the  work  very  quietly,  without  at- 
tempting any  defence ;  but  her  kinder  aunt  Ber- 
tram observed  on  her  behalf — 

[237] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"One  cannot  wonder,  sister,  that  Fanny  should 
be  delighted;  it  is  all  new  to  her,  you  know;  you 
and  I  used  to  be  very  fond  of  a  play  ourselves, 
and  so  am  I  still ;  and  as  soon  as  I  am  a  little  more 
at  leisure,  /  mean  to  look  in  at  their  rehearsals 
too.  What  is  the  play  about,  Fanny,  you  have 
never  told  me?" 

"Oh!  sister,  pray  do  not  ask  her  now;  for 
Fanny  is  not  one  of  those  who  can  talk  and  work 
at  the  same  time.     It  is  about  Lovers'  Vows." 

"I  believe,"  said  Fanny  to  her  aunt  Bertram, 
"there  will  be  three  acts  rehearsed  to-morrow 
evening,  and  that  will  give  you  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  all  the  actors  at  once." 

"You  had  better  stay  till  the  curtain  is  hung," 
interposed  Mrs  Norris;  "the  curtain  will  be  hung 
in  a  day  or  two — there  is  very  little  sense  in  a  play 
without  a  curtain — and  I  am  much  mistaken  if 
you  do  not  find  it  draw  up  into  very  handsome 
festoons." 

Lady  Bertram  seemed  quite  resigned  to  wait- 
ing. Fanny  did  not  share  her  aunt's  composure ; 
she  thought  of  the  morrow  a  great  deal,  for  if  the 
three  acts  were  rehearsed,  Edmund  and  Miss 
Crawford  would  then  be  acting  together  for  the 
first  time;  the  third  act  would  bring  a  scene  be- 
tween them  which  interested  her  most  particular- 
ly, and  which  she  was  longing  and  dreading  to  see 
how  they  would  perform.  The  whole  subject  of 
[238] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

it  was  love — a  marriage  of  love  was  to  be  de- 
scribed by  the  gentleman,  and  very  little  short  of 
a  declaration  of  love  be  made  by  the  lady. 

She  had  read,  and  read  the  scene  again  with 
many  painful,  many  wondering  emotions,  and 
looked  forward  to  their  representation  of  it  as  a 
circumstance  almost  too  interesting.  She  did 
not  believe  they  had  yet  rehearsed  it,  even  in 
private. 

The  morrow  came,  the  plan  for  the  evening 
continued,  and  Fanny's  consideration  of  it  did 
not  become  less  agitated.  She  worked  very 
diligently  under  her  aunt's  directions,  but  her 
diligence  and  her  silence  concealed  a  very  absent, 
anxious  mind;  and  about  noon  she  made  her  es- 
cape with  her  work  to  the  East  room,  that  she 
might  have  no  concern  in  another,  and,  as  she 
deemed  it,  most  unnecessary  rehearsal  of  the  first 
act,  which  Henry  Crawford  was  just  proposing, 
desirous  at  once  of  having  her  time  to  herself, 
and  of  avoiding  the  sight  of  Mr  Rushworth.  A 
glimpse,  as  she  passed  through  the  hall,  of  the 
two  ladies  walking  up  from  the  Parsonage,  made 
no  change  in  her  wish  of  retreat,  and  she  worked 
and  meditated  in  the  East  room,  undisturbed,  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  a  gentle  tap  at  the 
door  was  followed  by  the  entrance  of  Miss  Craw- 
ford. 

"Am  I  right?     Yes;  this  is  the  East  room. 

[239] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

My  dear  Miss  Price,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I 
have  made  my  way  to  you  on  purpose  to  entreat 
your  help." 

Fanny,  quite  surprised,  endeavoured  to  show 
herself  mistress  of  the  room  by  her  civilities,  and 
looked  at  the  bright  bars  of  her  empty  grate  with 
concern. 

"Thank  you;  I  am  quite  warm,  very  warm. 
Allow  me  to  stay  here  a  little  while,  and  do  have 
the  goodness  to  hear  me  my  third  act.  I  have 
brought  my  book,  and  if  you  would  but  rehearse 
it  with  me,  I  should  be  so  obliged!  I  came  here 
to-day  intending  to  rehearse  it  with  Edmund — 
by  ourselves^ — against  the  evening,  but  he  is  not 
in  the  way ;  and  if  he  were^  I  do  not  think  I  could 
go  through  it  with  him,  till  I  have  hardened  my- 
self a  little ;  for  really  there  is  a  speech  or  two — 
You  will  be  so  good,  won't  you?" 

Fanny  was  most  civil  in  her  assurances,  though 
she  could  not  give  them  in  a  very  steady  voice. 

"Have  you  ever  happened  to  look  at  the  part  I 
mean?"  continued  Miss  Crawford,  opening  her 
book.     "Here  it  is.     I  did  not  think  much  of  it 

at  first — but,  upon  my  word .     There,  look 

at  that  speech,  and  that,  and  that.  How  am  I 
ever  to  look  him  in  the  face  and  say  such  things? 
Could  you  do  it?  But  then  he  is  your  cousin, 
which  makes  all  the  difference.  You  must  re- 
hearse it  with  me,  that  I  may  fancy  you  him,  and 
[240] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

get  on  by  degrees.  You  have  a  look  of  his  some- 
times." 

"Have  I?  I  will  do  my  best  with  the  greatest 
readiness;  but  I  must  read  the  part,  for  I  can 
say  very  little  of  it." 

"None  of  it  I  suppose.  You  are  to  have  the 
book,  of  course.  Now  for  it.  We  must  have 
two  chairs  at  hand  for  you  to  bring  forward  to 
the  front  of  the  stage.  There — very  good 
school-room  chairs,  not  made  for  a  theatre,  I  dare 
say;  much  more  fitted  for  little  girls  to  sit  and 
kick  their  feet  against  when  they  are  learning  a 
lesson.  Wliat  would  your  governess  and  your 
uncle  say  to  see  them  used  for  such  a  purpose? 
Could  Sir  Thomas  look  in  upon  us  just  now, 
he  would  bless  himself,  for  we  are  rehearsing 
all  over  the  house.  Yates  is  storming  away  in 
the  dining-room.  I  heard  him  as  I  came  up- 
stairs, and  the  theatre  is  engaged  of  course  by 
those  indefatigable  rehearsers,  Agatha  and  Fred- 
erick. If  they  are  not  perfect,  I  shall  be  sur- 
prised. By-the-bye,  I  looked  in  upon  them  five 
minutes  ago,  and  it  happened  to  be  exactly  at 
one  of  the  times  when  they  were  trying  not  to  em- 
brace, and  Mr  Rushworth  was  with  me.  I 
thought  he  began  to  look  a  little  queer,  so  I 
turned  it  off  as  well  as  I  could,  by  whispering  to 
him,  'We  shall  have  an  excellent  Agatha,  there 
is  something  so  maternal  in  her  manner,  so  com- 

[241] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

pletely  maternal  in  her  voice  and  countenance/ 
Was  not  that  well  done  of  me?  He  brightened 
up  directly.     Now  for  my  soliloquy." 

She  began,  and  Fanny  joined  in  with  all  the 
modest  feeling  which  the  idea  of  representing 
Edmund  was  so  strongly  calculated  to  inspire; 
but  with  looks  and  voice  so  truly  feminine,  as 
to  be  no  very  good  picture  of  a  man.  With  such 
an  Anhalt,  however,  Miss  Crawford  had  courage 
enough ;  and  they  had  got  through  half  the  scene, 
when  a  tap  at  the  door  brought  a  pause,  and  the 
entrance  of  Edmund,  the  next  moment,  sus- 
pended it  all. 

Surprise,  consciousness,  and  pleasure,  appear- 
ed in  each  of  the  three  on  this  unexpected  meet- 
ing; and  as  Edmund  was  come  on  the  very  same 
business  that  had  brought  Miss  Crawford,  con- 
sciousness and  pleasure  were  likely  to  be  more 
than  momentary  in  them.  He,  too,  had  his  book, 
and  was  seeking  Fanny,  to  ask  her  to  rehearse 
with  him,  and  help  him  to  prepare  for  the  even- 
ing, without  knowing  Miss  Crawford  to  be  in  the 
house;  and  great  was  the  joy  and  animation  of 
being  thus  thrown  together,  of  comparing 
schemes,  and  sympathizing  in  praise  of  Fanny's 
kind  offices. 

She  could  not  equal  them  in  their  warmth. 
Her  spirits  sank  under  the  glow  of  theirs,  and 
she  felt  herself  becoming  too  nearly  nothing  to 
[242] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

both,  to  have  any  comfort  in  having  been  sought 
by  either.  They  must  now  rehearse  together. 
Edmund  proposed,  urged,  entreated  it,  till  the 
lady,  not  very  unwilling  at  first,  could  refuse  no 
longer,  and  Fanny  was  wanted  only  to  prompt 
and  observe  them.  She  was  invested,  indeed,  with 
the  office  of  judge  and  critic,  and  earnestly  de- 
sired to  exercise  it  and  tell  them  all  their  faults; 
but  from  doing  so  every  feeling  within  her  shrank 
— she  could  not,  would  not,  dared  not,  attempt  it : 
had  she  been  otherwise  qualified  for  criticism, 
her  conscience  must  have  restrained  her  from 
venturing  at  disapprobation.  She  believed  her- 
self to  feel  too  much  of  it  in  the  aggregate  for 
honesty  or  safety  in  particulars.  To  prompt 
them  must  be  enough  for  her;  and  it  was  some- 
times more  than  enough ;  for  she  could  not  always 
pay  attention  to  the  book.  In  watching  them 
she  forgot  herself;  and,  agitated  by  the  increas- 
ing spirit  of  Edmund's  manner,  had  once  closed 
the  page  and  turned  away  exactly  as  he  wanted 
help.  It  was  imputed  to  very  reasonable  weari- 
ness, and  she  was  thanked  and  pitied;  but  slie 
deserved  their  pity  more  than  she  hoped  they 
would  ever  surmise.  At  last  the  scene  was  over, 
and  Fanny  forced  herself  to  add  her  praise  to 
the  compliments  each  was  giving  the  other;  and 
when  again  alone,  and  able  to  recall  the  whole, 
she  was  inclined  to  believe  their  performance 

[243] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

would,  indeed,  have  such  nature  and  feeling  in 
it  as  must  ensure  their  credit,  and  make  it  a  very 
suffering  exhibition  to  herself.  Whatever 
might  be  its  effect,  however,  she  must  stand  the 
brunt  of  it  again  that  very  day. 

The  first  regular  rehearsal  of  the  three  first 
acts  was  certainly  to  take  place  in  the  evening: 
]\lrs  Grant  and  the  Crawfords  were  engaged 
to  return  for  that  purpose  as  soon  as  they  could 
after  dinner ;  and  every  one  concerned  was  look- 
ing forward  with  eagerness.  There  seemed  a 
general  diffusion  of  cheerfulness  on  the  occa- 
sion. Tom  was  enjoying  such  an  advance  to- 
wards the  end;  Edmund  was  in  spirits  from  the 
morning's  rehearsal,  and  little  vexations  seemed 
everywhere  smoothed  away.  All  were  alert  and 
impatient;  the  ladies  moved  soon,  the  gentlemen 
soon  followed  them,  and  with  the  exception  of 
Lady  Bertram,  ]Mrs  Norris,  and  Julia,  everybody 
was  in  the  theatre  at  an  early  hour;  and,  having 
lighted  it  up  as  well  as  its  unfinished  state  ad- 
mitted, were  waiting  only  the  arrival  of  Mrs 
Grant  and  the  Crawfords  to  begin. 

They  did  not  wait  long  for  the  Crawfords,  but 
there  was  no  IVIrs  Grant.  She  could  not  come. 
Dr  Grant,  professing  an  indisposition,  for  which 
he  had  little  credit  with  his  fair  sister-in-law, 
could  not  spare  his  wife. 

"Dr  Grant  is  ill,"  said  she,  with  mock  solemn- 

.    [244] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

ity.  "He  has  been  ill  ever  since  he  did  not  eat 
any  of  the  pheasant  to-da5\  He  fancied  it  tough, 
sent  away  his  plate,  and  has  been  suffering 
ever  since." 

Here  was  disappointment!  Mrs  Grant's  non- 
attendance  was  sad  indeed.  Her  pleasant  man- 
ners and  cheerful  conformity  made  her  alwaj's 
valuable  amongst  them;  but  Jioiv  she  was  ab- 
solutely necessary.  They  could  not  act,  they 
could  not  rehearse  with  any  satisfaction  without 
her.  The  comfort  of  the  whole  evening  was 
destroyed.  What  was  to  be  done?  Tom,  as 
Cottager,  was  in  despair.  After  a  pause  of  per- 
plexity, some  eyes  began  to  be  turned  towards 
Fanny,  and  a  voice  or  two  to  say,  "If  Miss  Price 
would  be  so  good  as  to  read  the  part."  She  was 
immediately  surrounded  by  supplications,  every- 
body asked  it,  even  Edmund  said,  "Do,  Fanny, 
if  it  is  not  very  disagreeable  to  you." 

But  Fanny  still  hung  back.  She  could  not 
endure  the  idea  of  it.  Why  was  not  INIiss  Craw- 
ford to  be  applied  to  as  well?  Or  why  had  not 
she  rather  gone  to  her  own  room,  as  she  had  felt 
to  be  safest,  instead  of  attending  the  rehearsal 
at  all  ?  She  had  known  it  would  irritate  and  dis- 
tress her;  she  had  known  it  her  duty  to  keep 
away.    She  was  properly  punished. 

"You  have  only  to  read  the  part,"  said  Henry 
Crawford,  with  renewed  entreaty. 

[245] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"And  I  do  believe  she  can  say  every  word  of 
it,"  added  Maria,  "for  she  could  put  Mrs  Grant 
right  the  other  day  in  twenty  places.  Fanny,  I 
am  sure  you  know  the  part." 

Fanny  could  not  say  she  did  not;  and  as  they 
all  persevered,  as  Edmund  repeated  his  wish,  and 
with  a  look  of  even  fond  dependence  on  her 
good  nature,  she  must  yield.  She  would  do  her 
best.  Everybody  was  satisfied ;  and  she  was  left 
to  the  tremors  of  a  most  palpitating  heart,  while 
the  others  prepared  to  begin. 

They  did  begin ;  and  being  too  much  engaged 
in  their  own  noise  to  be  struck  by  an  [unusual] 
noise  in  the  other  part  of  the  house,  had  pro- 
ceeded some  way,  when  the  door  of  the  room  was 
thrown  open,  and  Julia,  appearing  at  it,  A\ith  a 
face  all  aghast,  exclaimed,  "My  father  is  come  I 
He  is  in  the  hall  at  this  moment." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HOW  is  the  consternation  of  the  party  to  be 
described?     To  the  greater  number  it 
was  a  moment  of  absolute  horror.     Sir 
Thomas  in  the  house!     All  felt  the  instantaneous 
conviction.     Not  a  hope  of  imposition  or  mistake 
was  harboured  anywhere.     Julia's  looks  were  an 
[246] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

evidence  of  the  fact  that  made  it  indisputable; 
and  after  the  first  starts  and  exclamations,  not 
a  word  was  spoken  for  half  a  minute ;  each  with 
an  altered  countenance  was  looking  at  some 
other,  and  almost  each  was  feeling  it  a  stroke 
the  most  unwelcome,  most  ill-timed,  most  appall- 
ing !  Mr.  Yates  might  consider  it  only  as  a  vex- 
atious interruption  for  the  evening,  and  Mr 
Rushworth  might  imagine  it  a  blessing ;  but  every 
other  heart  was  sinking  under  some  degree  of 
self-condemnation  or  undefined  alarm,  every 
other  heart  was  suggesting,  "What  will  become 
of  us?  what  is  to  be  done  now?"  It  was  a  ter- 
rible pause;  and  terrible  to  every  ear  were  the 
corroborating  sounds  of  opening  doors  and 
passing  footsteps. 

Julia  was  the  first  to  move  and  speak  again. 
Jealousy  and  bitterness  had  been  suspended :  sel- 
fishness was  lost  in  the  common  cause ;  but  at  the 
moment  of  her  appearance,  Frederick,  was  listen- 
ing with  looks  of  devotion  to  Agatha's  narrative, 
and  pressing  her  hand  to  his  heart;  and  as  soon 
as  she  could  notice  this,  and  see  that,  in  spite 
of  the  shock  of  her  words,  he  still  kept  his  station 
and  retained  her  sister's  hand,  her  wounded  heart 
swelled  again  with  injury,  and  looking  as  red  as 
she  had  been  white  before,  she  turned  out  of  the 
room,  saying,  "/  need  not  be  afraid  of  appearing 
before  him." 

[247] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Her  going  roused  the  rest;  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  two  brothers  stepped  forward,  feel- 
ing the  necessity  of  doing  something.  A  very 
few  words  between  them  were  sufficient.  The 
case  admitted  no  difference  of  opinion ;  they  must 
go  to  the  drawdng-room  directly.  Maria  joined 
them  with  the  same  intent,  just  then  the  stoutest 
of  the  three ;  for  the  very  circumstance  which  had 
driven  Julia  away  was  to  her  the  sweetest  sup- 
port. Henry  Crawford's  retaining  her  hand  at 
such  a  moment,  a  moment  of  such  peculiar  proof 
and  importance,  was  worth  ages  of  doubt  and 
anxiety.  She  hailed  it  as  an  earnest  of  the  most 
serious  determination,  and  was  equal  even  to  en- 
counter her  father.  They  walked  off,  utterly 
heedless  of  Mr  Rushworth's  requested  question 
of,  "Shall  I  go  too?  Had  not  I  better  go  too? 
Will  not  it  be  right  for  me  to  go  too?"  but  they 
were  no  sooner  through  the  door  than  Henry 
Crawford  undertook  to  answer  the  anxious  in- 
quiry, and,  encouraging  him  by  all  means  to  pay 
his  respects  to  Sir  Tliomas  without  delay,  sent 
him  after  the  others  with  delighted  haste. 

Fanny  was  left  with  only  the  Crawfords  and 
Mr  Yates.  She  had  been  quite  overlooked  by 
her  cousins:  and  as  her  own  opinion  of  her  claims 
on  Sir  Thomas's  affection  was  much  too  humble 
to  give  her  any  idea  of  classing  herself  with  his 
children,  she  was  glad  to  remain  behind  and  gain 
[248] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

a  little  breathing-time.  Her  agitation  and  alarm 
exceeded  all  that  was  endured  by  the  rest,  by  the 
right  of  a  disposition  which  not  even  innocence 
could  keep  from  suffering.  She  was  nearly 
fainting:  all  her  former  habitual  dread  of  her 
uncle  was  returning,  and  with  it  compassion  for 
him  and  for  almost  every  one  of  the  party  on  the 
development  before  him,  with  solicitude  on  Ed- 
mund's account  indescribable.  She  had  found  a 
seat,  where  in  excessive  trembling  she  was  en- 
during all  these  fearful  thoughts,  while  the  other 
three,  no  longer  under  any  restraint,  were  giv- 
ing vent  to  their  feelings  of  vexation,  lamenting 
over  such  an  unlooked-for  premature  arrival  as 
a  most  untoward  event,  and  without  mercy  wish- 
ing poor  Sir  Thomas  had  been  twice  as  long  on 
his  passage,  or  were  still  in  Antigua. 

The  Crawfords  were  more  warm  on  the  sub- 
ject than  ]Mr  Yates,  from  better  understanding 
the  family,  and  judging  more  clearly  of  the  mis- 
chief that  must  ensue.  The  ruin  of  the  play  was 
to  them  a  certainty :  they  felt  the  total  destruction 
of  the  scheme  to  be  inevitably  at  hand ;  while  ]Mr. 
Yates  considered  it  only  as  a  temporary  inter- 
ruj^tion,  a  disaster  for  the  evening,  and  could 
even  suggest  the  possibility  of  the  rehearsal  be- 
ing renewed  after  tea,  when  the  bustle  of  receiv- 
ing Sir  Thomas  were  over,  and  he  might  be  at 
leisure   to   be   amused   by   it.      The   Crawfords 

[249] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

laughed  at  the  idea;  and  having  soon  agreed  on 
the  propriety  of  their  walking  quietly  home  and 
leaving  the  family  to  themselves,  proposed  Mr 
Yate's  accompanying  them  and  spending  the 
evening  at  the  Parsonage.  But  Mr  Yates,  hav- 
ing never  been  with  those  who  thought  much  of 
parental  claims,  or  family  confidence,  could  not 
perceive  that  anything  of  the  kind  was  necessary; 
and  therefore,  thanking  them,  said,  "he  preferred 
remaining  where  he  was,  that  he  might  pay  his 
respects  to  the  old  gentleman  handsomely,  since 
he  was  come;  and  besides,  he  did  not  think  it 
would  be  fair  by  the  others,  to  have  everybody 
run  away." 

Fanny  was  just  beginning  to  collect  herself, 
and  to  feel  that  if  she  staid  longer  behind  it  might 
seem  disrespectful,  when  this  point  was  settled, 
and  being  commissioned  with  the  brother  and 
sister's  apology,  saw  them  preparing  to  go  as 
she  quitted  the  room  herself  to  perform  the 
dreadful  duty  of  appearing  before  her  uncle. 

Too  soon  did  she  find  herself  at  the  drawing- 
room  door ;  and  after  pausing  a  moment  for  what 
she  knew  would  not  come,  for  a  courage  which 
the  outside  of  no  door  had  ever  supplied  to  her, 
she  turned  the  lock  in  desperation,  and  the  lights 
of  the  drawing-room,  and  all  the  collected  family, 
were  before  her.  As  she  entered,  her  own  name 
caught  her  ear.  Sir  Thomas  was  at  that  moment 
[250] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

looking  round  him,  and  saying,  "But  where  is 
Fanny?  Why  do  not  I  see  my  Httle  Fanny?" 
— and,  on  perceiving  her,  came  forward  with  a 
kindness  which  astonished  and  penetrated  her, 
calHng  her  his  dear  Fanny,  kissing  her  affection- 
ately, and  observing  with  decided  pleasure  how 
much  she  was  grown!  Fanny  knew  not  how  to 
feel,  nor  where  to  look.  She  was  quite  op- 
pressed. He  had  never  been  so  kind,  so  very  kind 
to  her  in  his  life.  His  manner  seemed  changed, 
his  voice  was  quick  from  the  agitation  of  joy; 
and  all  that  had  been  awful  in  his  dignity  seemed 
lost  in  tenderness.  He  led  her  nearer  to  the  light 
and  looked  at  her  again — inquired  particularly 
after  ber  health,  and  then  correcting  himself,  ob- 
served, that  he  need  not  inquire,  for  her  appear- 
ance spoke  sufficiently  on  that  point.  A  fine  blush 
having  succeeded  the  previous  paleness  of  her 
face,  he  was  justified  in  his  belief  of  her  equal  im- 
provement in  health  and  beauty.  He  inquired 
next  after  hel*  family,  especially  William;  and  his 
kindness  altogether  was  such  as  made  her  re- 
proach herself  for  loving  him  so  little,  and 
thinking  his  return  a  misfortune;  and  when, 
on  having  courage  to  lift  her  eyes  to  his 
face,  she  saw  that  he  was  grown  thinner,  and 
had  the  burnt,  fagged,  worn  look  of  fatigue  and 
a  hot  climate,  every  tender  feeling  was  increased, 
and  she  was  miserable  in  considering  how  much 

[251] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

unsuspected  vexation  was  probably  ready  to  burst 
on  him. 

Sir  Thomas  was  indeed  the  life  of  the  party, 
who  at  his  sugestion  now  seated  themselves  round 
the  fire.  He  had  the  best  right  to  be  the  talker ; 
and  the  delight  of  his  sensations  in  being  again 
in  his  own  house,  in  the  centre  of  his  family,  af- 
ter such  a  separation,  made  him  communicative 
and  chatty  in  a  very  unusual  degree ;  and  he  was 
ready  to  give  every  information  as  to  his  voyage, 
and  answer  every  question  of  his  two  sons  almost 
before  it  was  put.  His  business  in  Antigua  had 
latterly  been  prosperously  rapid,  and  he  came 
directly  from  Liverpool,  having  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  making  his  passage  thither  in  a  private 
vessel,  instead  of  waiting  for  the  packet;  and  all 
the  little  particulars  of  his  proceedings  and 
events,  his  arrivals  and  departures,  were  most 
promptly  delivered,  as  he  sat  by  Lady  Bertram 
and  looked  with  heartfelt  satisfaction  on  the 
faces  around  him — interrupting  himself  more 
than  once,  however,  to  remark  on  his  good  for- 
tune in  finding  them  all  at  home — coming  un- 
expectedly as  he  did — all  collected  together  ex- 
actly as  he  could  have  wished,  but  dared  not  de- 
pend on.  JNIr  Rushworth  was  not  forgotten; 
a  most  friendly  reception  and  warmth  of  hand- 
shaking had  already  met  him,  and  with  pointed 
attention  he  was  now  included  in  the  objects 
[252] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

most  intimately  connected  with  Mansfield.  There 
was  nothing  disagreeable  in  INIr  Rushworth's  ap- 
pearance, and  Sir  Thomas  was  liking  him  al- 
ready. 

B}^  not  one  of  the  circle  was  he  listened  to 
with  such  unbroken,  unalloyed  enjoyment  as  by 
his  wife,  who  was  really  extremely  happy  to  see 
him,  and  whose  feelings  were  so  warmed  by  his 
sudden  arrival,  as  to  place  her  nearer  agitation 
than  she  had  been  for  the  last  twenty  years.  She 
had  been  almost  fluttered  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
still  remained  so  sensibly  animated  as  to  put  away 
her  work,  move  Fug  from  her  side,  and  give  all 
her  attention  and  all  the  rest  of  her  sofa  to  her 
husband.  She  had  no  anxieties  for  anybody  to 
cloud  her  pleasure:  her  own  time  had  been  ir- 
reproachably spent  during  his  absence:  she  had 
done  a  great  deal  of  carpet  work,  and  made  many 
yards  of  fringe;  and  she  would  have  answered 
as  freely  for  the  good  conduct  and  useful  pur- 
suits of  all  the  young  people  as  for  her  o^vn. 
It  was  so  agreeable  to  her  to  see  him  again,  and 
hear  him  talk,  to  have  her  ear  amused  and  her 
whole  comprehension  filled  bj'^  his  narratives,  that 
she  began  particularly  to  feel  how  dreadfully  she 
must  have  missed  him,  and  how  impossible  it 
would  have  been  for  her  to  bear  a  lengthened 
absence. 

Mrs  Norris  was  by  no  means  to  be  compared 

[253] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

in  happiness  to  her  sister.  Not  that  she  was  in- 
commoded by  many  fears  of  Sir  Thomas's  dis- 
approbation when  the  present  state  of  his  house 
should  be  known,  for  her  judgment  had  been 
so  bhnded  that,  except  by  the  instinctive  caution 
with  which  she  had  whisked  away  INIr  Rush- 
worth's  j3ink  satin  cloak  as  her  brother-in-law 
entered,  she  could  hardly  be  said  to  shew  any 
sign  of  alarm ;  but  she  was  vexed  by  the  manner 
of  his  return.  It  had  left  her  nothing  to  do. 
Instead  of  being  sent  for  out  of  the  room,  and 
seeing  him  first,  and  having  to  spread  the  happy 
news  through  the  house.  Sir  Thomas,  with  a  very 
reasonable  dependence,  perhaps,  on  the  nerves 
of  his  wife  and  children,  had  sought  no  confidant 
but  the  butler,  and  had  been  following  him  al- 
most instantaneously  into  the  drawing-room. 
Mrs  Norris  felt  herself  defrauded  of  an  office 
on  which  she  had  always  depended,  whether  his 
arrival  or  his  death  were  to  be  the  thing  unfolded ; 
and  was  now  trying  to  be  in  a  bustle  without 
having  anj^thing  to  bustle  about,  and  labouring 
to  be  important  where  nothing  was  wanted  but 
tranquillity  and  silence.  Would  Sir  Thomas 
have  consented  to  eat,  she  might  have  gone  to 
the  housekeeper  with  troublesome  directions,  and 
insulted  the  footmen  with  injunctions  of  des- 
patch; but  Sir  Thomas  resolutely  declined  all  din- 
ner ;  he  would  take  nothing,  nothing  till  tea  came 
[254] 


i 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

— he  would  rather  wait  for  tea.  Still  Mrs  Norris 
was  at  intervals  urging  something  different;  and 
in  the  most  interesting  moment  of  his  passage 
to  England,  when  the  alarm  of  a  French  pri- 
vateer was  at  the  height,  she  burst  through  his 
recital  with  the  proposal  of  soup.  "Sure,  my 
dear  Sir  Thomas,  a  basin  of  soup  would  be  a 
much  better  thing  for  you  than  tea.  Do  have 
a  basin  of  soup." 

Sir  Thomas  could  not  be  provoked.  "Still 
the  same  anxiety  for  everybody's  comfort,  my 
dear  Mrs  Norris,"  was  his  answer.  "But  indeed 
I  would  rather  have  nothing  but  tea." 

"Well,  then.  Lady  Bertram,  suppose  you 
speak  for  tea  directly;  suppose  you  hurry  Bad- 
deley  a  little;  he  seems  behind  hand  to-night." 
She  carried  this  point,  and  Sir  Thomas's  narra- 
tive proceeded. 

At  length  there  was  a  pause.  His  immediate 
communications  were  exhausted,  and  it  seemed 
enough  to  be  looking  joyfully  around  him,  now 
at  one,  now  at  another  of  the  beloved  circle; 
but  the  pause  was  not  long:  in  the  elation  of 
her  spirits  Lady  Bertram  became  talkative,  and 
what  were  the  sensations  of  her  children  upon 
hearing  her  say,  "How  do  you  think  the  young 
people  have  been  amusing  themselves  lately.  Sir 
Thomas?  They  have  been  acting.  We  have 
been  all  alive  with  acting." 

[255] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"Indeed!  and  what  have  you  been  acting?"' 
"Oh!  they'll  tell  you  all  a])out  it." 
"The  all  will  soon  be  told,"  cried  Tom  hastily, 
and  with  aifecting  unconcern;  "but  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  bore  my  father  with  it  now.  You 
will  hear  enough  of  it  to-morrow,  sir.  We  have 
just  been  trj^ing,  by  way  of  doing  something, 
and  amusing  my  mother,  just  within  the  last 
week,  to  get  up  a  few  scenes,  a  mere  trifle.  We 
have  had  such  incessant  rains  almost  since  Octo- 
ber began,  that  we  have  been  nearly  confined 
to  the  house  for  days  together.  I  have  hardly 
taken  out  a  gun  since  the  3d.  Tolerable  sport 
the  first  three  days,  but  there  has  been  no  attempt- 
ing anything  since.  The  first  day  I  went  over 
Mansfield  Wood,  and  Edmund  took  the  copses 
beyond  Easton,  and  we  brought  home  six  brace 
between  us,  and  might  each  have  killed  six  times 
as  many;  but  we  respect  your  pheasants,  sir,  I 
assure  you,  as  much  as  you  could  desire.  I  do 
not  think  you  will  find  your  woods  by  any  means 
worse  stocked  than  they  were.  I  never  saw 
Mansfield  Wood  so  full  of  pheasants  in  my  life 
as  this  year.  I  hope  you  will  take  a  day's  sport 
there  yourself,  sir,  soon." 

For  the  present  the  danger  was  over,  and  Fan- 
ny's sick  feelings  subsided ;  but  when  tea  was  soon 
afterwards  brought  in,  and  Sir  Thomas,  getting 
up,  said  that  he  found  that  he  could  not  be  aily 
[256] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

longer  in  the  house  without  just  looking  into  his 
own  room,  every  agitation  was  returning.  He 
was  gone  before  anything  had  been  said  to  pre- 
pare him  for  the  change  he  must  find  there;  and 
a  pause  of  alarm  followed  his  disappearance. 
Edmund  was  the  first  to  speak — 

"Something  must  be  done,"  said  he. 

"It  is  time  to  think  of  our  visitors,"  said  Maria, 
still  feeling  her  hand  pressed  to  Henry  Craw- 
ford's heart,  and  caring  little  for  anything  else. 
"Where  did  you  leave  Miss  Crawford,  Fanny?" 

Fanny  told  of  their  departure,  and  delivered 
their  message. 

"Then  poor  Yates  is  all  alone,"  cried  Tom. 
"I  will  go  and  fetch  him.  He  will  be  no  bad 
assistant  when  it  all  comes  out." 

To  the  theatre  he  went,  and  reached  it  just  in 
time  to  witness  the  first  meeting  of  his  father  and 
his  friend.  Sir  Thomas  had  been  a  good  deal 
surprised  to  find  candles  burning  in  his  room; 
and  on  casting  his  eye  round  it,  to  see  other 
symptoms  of  recent  habitation  and  a  general  air 
of  confusion  in  the  furniture.  The  removal  of 
the  book-case  from  before  the  billiard-room  door 
struck  him  especially,  but  he  had  scarcely  more 
than  time  to  feel  astonished  at  all  this,  before 
there  were  sounds  from  the  billiard-room  to  as- 
tonish him  still  further.  Some  one  was  talking 
there  in  a  very  loud  accent;  he  did  not  know  the 

[257] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

voice — more  than  talking — almost  hallooing. 
He  stepped  to  the  door,  rejoicing  at  that  mo- 
ment in  having  the  means  of  immediate  com- 
munication, and,  opening  it,  found  himself  on 
the  stage  of  a  theatre,  and  opposed  to  a  ranting 
young  man,  who  appeared  likely  to  knock  him 
down  backwards.  At  the  very  moment  of  Yates 
perceiving  Sir  Thomas,  and  giving  perhaps  the 
very  best  start  he  had  ever  given  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  rehearsals,  Tom  Bertram  entered 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room;  and  never  had  he 
found  greater  difficulty  in  keeping  his  coun- 
tenance. His  father's  looks  of  solemnity  and 
amazement  on  this,  his  first  appearance  on  any 
stage,  and  the  gradual  metamorphosis  of  the  im- 
passioned Baron  Wildenheim  into  the  well-bred 
and  easy  ]Mr  Yates,  making  his  bow  and  apology 
to  Sir  Thomas  Bertram,  was  such  an  exhibition, 
such  a  piece  of  true  acting,  as  he  would  not  have 
lost  upon  any  account.  It  would  be  the  last — 
in  all  probability — the  last  scene  on  that  stage; 
but  he  was  sure  there  could  not  be  a  finer.  The 
house  would  close  with  the  greatest  eclat. 

There  was  little  time,  however,  for  the  indul- 
gence of  any  images  of  merriment.  It  was 
necessary  for  him  to  step  forward,  too,  and  as- 
sist the  introduction,  and  with  many  awkward 
sensations  he  did  his  best.  Sir  Thomas  received 
Mr  Yates  with  all  the  appearance  of  cordiality 
[258] 


>^ 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

which  was  due  to  his  own  character,  but  was 
really  as  far  from  pleased  with  the  necessity  of 
the  acquaintance  as  with  the  manner  of  its  com- 
mencement. ]Mr  Yates's  family  and  connec- 
tions were  sufficiently  known  to  him,  to  render 
his  introduction  as  the  "particular  friend,"  an- 
other of  the  hundred  particular  friends  of  his 
son,  exceedingly  unwelcome;  and  it  needed  all 
the  felicity  of  being  again  at  home,  and  all  the 
forbearance  it  could  supply,  to  save  Sir  Thomas 
from  anger  on  finding  himself  thus  bewildered 
in  his  own  house,  making  part  of  a  ridiculous 
exhibition  in  the  midst  of  theatrical  nonsense, 
and  forced  in  so  untoward  a  moment  to  admit 
the  acquaintance  of  a  young  man  whom  he  felt 
sure  of  disapproving,  and  whose  easy  indiffer- 
ence and  volubility  in  the  course  of  the  first  five 
minutes  seeemd  to  mark  him  the  most  at  home 
of  the  two. 

Tom  understood  his  father''s  thoughts,  and 
heartily  wished  he  might  be  always  as  well  dis- 
posed to  give  them  but  partial  expression,  be- 
gan to  see  more  clearly  than  he  had  ever  done 
before,  that  there  might  be  some  ground  of  of- 
fence, that  there  might  be  some  reason  for  the 
glance  his  father  gave  towards  the  ceiling  and 
stucco  of  the  room;  and  that  when  he  inquired 
with  mild  gravity  after  the  fate  of  the  billiard- 
table,  he  was  not  proceeding  beyond  a  very  allow- 

[259] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

able  curiosity.  A  few  minutes  were  enough  for 
such  unsatisfactory  sensations  on  each  side;  and 
Sir  Thomas  having  exerted  himself  so  far  as  to 
speak  a  few  words  of  calm  approbation  in  re- 
ply to  an  eager  appeal  of  ISIr  Yates,  as  to  the 
happiness  of  the  arrangement,  the  three  gentle- 
men returned  to  the  drawing-room  together.  Sir 
Thomas  with  an  increase  of  gravity  which  was 
not  lost  on  all. 

"I  come  from  your  theatre,"  said  he,  com- 
posedly, as  he  sat  down;  'T  found  myself  in  it 
rather  unexpectedly.  Its  vicinity  to  my  own 
room — but  in  every  respect,  indeed,  it  took  me 
by  surprise,  as  I  had  not  the  smallest  suspicion 
of  your  acting  having  assumed  so  serious  a  char- 
acter. It  appears  a  neat  job,  however,  as  far 
as  I  could  judge  by  candlelight,  and  does  my 
friend  Christopher  Jackson  credit."  And  then 
he  would  have  changed  the  subject,  and  sipped 
his  coffee  in  peace  over  domestic  matters  of  a 
calmer  hue;  but  Mr  Yates,  without  discernment 
to  catch  Sir  Thomas's  meaning,  or  diffidence,  or 
delicacy,  or  discretion  enough  to  allow  him  to 
lead  the  discourse  while  he  mingled  among  the 
others  with  the  least  obtrusiveness  himself,  would 
keep  him  on  the  topic  of  the  theatre,  would  tor- 
ment him  with  questions  and  remarks  relative  to 
it,  and  finally  would  make  him  hear  the  whole 
history  of  his  disappointment  at  Ecclesford. 
[260] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Sir  Thomas  listened  most  politely,  but  found 
much  to  offend  his  ideas  of  decorum,  and  confirm 
his  ill  opinion  of  Mr  Yates's  habits  of  thinking, 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  story;  and 
when  it  was  over,  could  give  him  no  other  assur- 
ance of  sympathy  than  what  a  slight  bow  con- 
veyed. 

"This  was,  in  fact,  the  origin  of  our  acting," 
said  Tom,  after  a  moment's  thought.  "My 
friend  Yates  brought  the  infection  from  Ec- 
clesford,  and  it  spread — as  those  things  always 
spread,  you  know,  sir — the  faster,  probably  from 
your  having  so  often  encouraged  the  sort  of  thing 
in  us  formerly.  It  was  like  treading  old  ground 
again." 

Mr  Yates  took  the  subject  from  his  friend  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  immediately  gave  Sir 
Thomas  an  account  of  what  they  had  done  and 
were  doing;  told  him  of  the  gradual  increase  of 
their  views,  the  happy  conclusion  of  their  first 
difficulties,  and  present  promising  state  of  af- 
fairs; relating  everything  with  so  blind  an  inter- 
est as  made  him  not  only  totally  unconscious  of 
the  uneasy  movements  of  many  of  his  friends 
as  they  sat,  the  change  of  countenance,  the  fidget, 
the  hem !  of  unquietness,  but  prevented  him  even 
from  seeing  the  expression  of  the  face  on  which 
his  own  eyes  were  fixed — from  seeing  Sir 
Thomas's  dark  brow  contract  as  he  looked  with 

[261] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

inquiring  earnestness  at  his  daughters  and 
Edmund,  dweUing  particular!}^  on  the  latter,  and 
speaking  a  language,  a  remonstrance,  a  reproof, 
which  he  felt  at  his  heart.  Not  less  acutely  was 
it  felt  by  Fanny,  who  had  edged  back  her  chair 
behind  her  Aunt's  end  of  the  sofa  and,  screened 
from  notice  herself,  saw  all  that  was  passing  be- 
fore her.  Such  a  look  of  reproach  at  Edmund 
from  his  father  she  could  never  have  expected 
to  witness;  and  to  feel  that  it  was  in  any  de- 
gree deserved  was  an  aggravation  indeed.  Sir 
Thomas's  look  imjilied,  "On  your  judgment, 
Edmund,  I  depended;  what  have  you  been 
about?"  She  knelt  in  spirit  to  her  uncle,  and  her 
bosom  swelled  to  utter,  "Oh,  not  to  him!  Look 
so  to  all  the  others,  but  not  to  him!'' 

Mr  Yates  was  still  talking.  "To  own  the 
truth,  Sir  Thomas,  we  were  in  the  middle  of  a 
rehearsal  when  you  arrived  this  evening.  We 
were  going  through  the  three  first  acts,  and  not 
unsuccessfully  upon  the  whole.  Our  company  is 
now  so  dispersed,  from  the  Crawfords  being 
gone  home,  that  nothing  more  can  be  done  to- 
night; but  if  you  will  give  us  the  honour  of  your 
company  to-morrow  evening,  I  should  not  be 
afraid  of  the  result.  We  bespeak  your  indul- 
gence, you  understand,  as  young  performers;  we 
bespeak  your  indulgence." 

"JMy  indulgence  shall  be  given,  sir,"  replied 
[262] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

Sir  Thomas  gravely,  "but  without  any  other  re- 
hearsal." And  with  a  relenting  smile  he  added, 
"I  come  home  to  be  happy  and  indulgent." 
Then  turning  away  towards  any  or  all  of  the 
rest,  he  tranquilly  said,  "]\Ir  and  Miss  Crawford 
were  mentioned  in  my  last  letters  from  Mans- 
field. Do  you  find  them  agreeable  acquaint- 
ance? " 

Tom  was  the  only  one  at  all  ready  with  an 
answer,  but  he  being  entirely  without  particular 
regard  for  either,  without  jealousy  either  in 
love  or  acting,  could  speak  very  handsomely  of 
both.  "Mr  Crawford  was  a  most  pleasant  gen- 
tlemanlike man ;  his  sister  a  sweet,  pretty,  elegant 
lively  girl." 

Mr  Rushworth  could  be  silent  no  longer.  "I 
do  not  say  he  is  not  gentlemanlike,  considering; 
but  you  should  tell  your  father  he  is  not  above 
five  feet  eight,  or  he  will  be  expecting  a  well- 
looking  man." 

Sir  Thomas  did  not  quite  understand  this,  and 
looked  wdth  some  surprize  at  the  speaker. 

"If  I  must  say  what  I  think,"  continued  Mr 
Rushworth,  "in  my  opinion  it  is  very  disagreeable 
to  be  always  rehearsing.  It  is  having  too  much 
of  a  good  thing.  I  am  not  so  fond  of  acting 
as  I  was  at  first.  I  think  we  are  a  great  deal 
better  employed,  sitting  comfortably  here  among 
ourselves,  and  doing  nothing." 

[263] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Sir  Thomas  looked  again,  and  then  rephed 
with  an  approving  smile,  "I  am  happy  to  find  our 
sentiments  on  this  subject  so  much  the  same.  It 
gives  me  sincere  satisfaction.  That  I  should  be 
cautious  and  quicksighted,  and  feel  many  scru- 
ples which  my  children  do  not  feel,  is  perfectly 
natural ;  and  equally  so  that  my  value  for  domes- 
tic tranquillity,  for  a  home  which  shuts  out  noisy 
pleasures,  should  much  exceed  theirs.  But  at 
your  time  of  life  to  feel  all  this,  is  a  most  favour- 
able circumstance  for  yourself,  and  for  every- 
body connected  with  you,  and  I  am  sensible  of  the 
importance  of  having  an  ally  of  such  weight." 

Sir  Thomas  meant  to  be  giving  Mr  Rush- 
worth's  opinion  in  better  words  than  he  could 
find  himself.  He  was  aware  that  he  must  not 
expect  a  genius  in  INIr  Rushworth ;  but  as  a  well- 
judging,  steady  young  man,  with  better  notions 
than  his  elocution  would  do  justice  to,  he  in- 
tended to  value  him  very  highly.  It  was  im- 
possible for  many  of  the  others  not  to  smile.  Mr 
Rushworth  hardly  knew  what  to  do  with  so  much 
meaning;  but  by  looking,  as  he  really  felt,  most 
exceedingly  pleased  with  Sir  Thomas's  good 
opinion  and  saying  scarcely  anything,  he  did  his 
best  towards  preserving  that  good  opinion  a  little 
longer. 


[264] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 


CHAPTER  XX. 

EDMUND'S  first  object  the  next  morning 
was  to  see  his  father  alone,  and  give  him 
a  fair  statement  of  the  whole  acting 
scheme,  defending  his  own  share  in  it  as  far  only 
as  he  could  then,  in  a  soberer  moment,  feel  his 
motives  to  deserve,  and  acknowledging,  with  per- 
fect ingenuousness,  that  his  concession  had  been 
attended  with  such  partial  good  as  to  make  his 
judgment  in  it  very  doubtful.  He  was  anxious, 
while  vindicating  himself,  to  say  nothing  unkind 
of  the  others;  but  there  was  only  one  amongst 
them  whose  conduct  he  could  mention  without 
some  necessity  of  defence  or  palliation.  "We 
have  all  been  more  or  less  to  blame,"  said  he, 
"every  one  of  us,  excepting  Fanny.  Fanny  is 
the  only  one  who  has  judged  rightly  throughout; 
who  has  been  consistent.  Her  feelings  have  been 
steadily  against  it  from  first  to  last.  You  will 
find  Fanny  everything  you  could  wish." 

Sir  Thomas  saw  all  the  impropriety  of  such  a 
scheme  among  such  a  party,  and  at  such  a  time, 
as  strongly  as  his  son  had  ever  supposed  he  must ; 
he  felt  it  too  much,  indeed,  for  many  words ;  and 
having  shaken  hands  with  Edmund,  meant  to  try 
to  lose  the  disagreeable  impression,  and  forget 
how  much  he  had  been  forgotten  himself  as  soon 

[265] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

as  he  could,  after  the  house  had  been  cleared  of 
every  object  enforcing  the  remembrance,  and 
restored  to  its  proper  state.  He  did  not  enter 
into  any  remonstrance  with  his  other  children: 
he  was  more  willing  to  believe  they  felt  their 
error,  than  to  run  the  risk  of  investigation.  The 
reproof  of  an  immediate  conclusion  of  every- 
thing, the  sweep  of  every  preparation,  would  be 
sufficient. 

There  was  one  person,  however,  in  the  house, 
whom  he  could  not  leave  to  learn  his  sentiments 
merely  through  his  conduct.  He  could  not  help 
giving  Mrs  Norris  a  hint  of  his  having  hoped, 
that  her  advice  might  have  been  interposed  to 
prevent  what  her  judgment  must  certainly  have 
disapproved.  The  young  people  had  been  very 
inconsiderate  in  forming  the  plan;  they  ought 
to  have  been  capable  of  a  better  decision  them- 
selves; but  they  were  young;  and,  excepting 
Edmund,  he  believed,  of  unsteady  characters; 
and  with  greater  surprize,  therefore,  he  must  re- 
gard her  acquiescence  in  the  wrong  measures, 
her  countenance  of  their  unsafe  amusements, 
than  that  such  measures  and  such  amusements 
should  have  been  suggested.  Mrs  Norris  was  a 
little  confounded  and  as  nearly  being  silenced 
as  ever  she  had  been  in  her  life;  for  she  was 
ashamed  to  confess  having  never  seen  any  of  the 
impropriety  which  was  so  glaring  to  Sir  Thomas, 
[266] 


> 


Hi^'eould^peiMlp  gV^»g  Mrs.  Norris  a  hint  that  her  advicH 
iosrri'    - 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

as  he  could,  after  the  house  had  been  cleared  of 
every  object  enforcing  the  remembrance,  and 
restored  to  its  proper  state.    He  did  not  ent^r 
into  any  rem-  'his  other  children: 

he  was  more    ......^         ..v.iieve  they  felt  their 

error,  than  to  run  the  risk  of  investigation.  The 
reproof  of  an  inmiediate  conclusion  of  every- 
thing, the  sweep  of  every  preparation,  would  be 
suffident. 

There  was  one  person,  however,  in  the  house 
whom  he  coiild  not  leave  to  learn  his  sentimeiv 
merely  through  Iiis  conduct.     He  could  not  he 
'  hint  of  his  having  hoped. 
it  have  been  interposed  ♦• 
igment  must  certainly  ha'. 
The  young  people  had  been  ve^ 
n  forming  the  plan;  they  oughl 
,.  .1.1.,  ^^'  g^  better  decision  them- 
te   young;   and,   excepting 
Kdmu;  eved,  of  unsteady  characters 

and  with  greater  surprize,  therefore,  he  must  r< 

e  in  the  wrong 
.    their  unsafe  ami..  . 
''\  measures  and  such  amusei 
should  have  been  suggested.    Mrs  Norris  was  i' 

i  as  nearly  being  silenc 

„„        fthe 
impropriety  which  was  so  glaring  to  Sir  Thomas, 

[266] 


^r-)y^^'7^y^a~o^      *r^T! 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

and  would  not  have  admitted  that  her  influence 
was  insufficient — that  she  might  have  talked  in 
vain.  Her  only  resource  was  to  get  out  of  the 
subject  as  fast  as  possible,  and  turn  the  current 
of  Sir  Thomas's  ideas  into  a  happier  channel. 
She  had  a  great  deal  to  insinuate  in  her  own 
praise  as  to  general  attention  to  the  interest  and 
comfort  of  his  family,  much  exertion  and  many 
sacrifices  to  glance  at  in  the  form  of  hurried 
walks  and  sudden  removals  from  her  own  fire- 
side, and  many  excellent  hints  of  distrust  and 
economy  to  Lady  Bertram  and  Edmund  to  detail, 
whereby  a  most  considerable  saving  had  always 
arisen,  and  more  than  one  bad  servant  been  de- 
tected. But  her  chief  strength  lay  in  Sotherton. 
Her  greatest  support  and  glory  was  in  having 
formed  the  connection  with  the  Rushworths. 
There  she  was  impregnable.  She  took  to  herself 
all  the  credit  of  bringing  Mr  Rushworth's  ad- 
miration of  Maria  to  any  effect.  "If  I  had 
not  been  active,"  said  she,  "and  made  a  point 
of  being  introduced  to  his  mother,  and  then  pre- 
vailed on  my  sister  to  pay  the  first  visit,  I  am  as 
certain  as  I  sit  here  that  nothing  would  have 
come  of  it;  for  Mr  Rushworth  is  the  sort  of 
amiable  modest  young  man  who  want  a  great 
deal  of  encouragement  and  there  were  girls 
enough  on  the  catch  for  him  if  we  had  been 
idle.     But  I  left  no    stone    unturned.     I    was 

[267] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

ready  to  move  heaven  and  earth  to  persuade  my 
sister,  and  at  last  I  did  persuade  her.  You  know 
the  distance  to  Sotherton;  it  was  in  the  middle 
of  winter,  and  the  roads  ahuost  impassable,  but 
I  did  persuade  her." 

"I  know  how  great,  how  justly  great,  your  in- 
fluence is  with  Lady  Bertram  and  her  children, 
and  am  the  more  concerned  that  It  should  not 
have  been — " 

"My  dear  Sir  Thomas,  if  you  had  seen  the  state 
of  the  roads  that  day!  I  thought  we  should 
never  have  got  through  them,  though  we  had 
the  four  horses  of  course ;  and  poor  old  coachman 
would  attend  us,  out  of  his  great  love  and  kind- 
ness, though  he  was  hardly  able  to  sit  the  box 
on  account  of  the  rheumatism  which  I  had  been 
doctoring  him  for  ever  since  Michaelmas.  I 
cured  him  at  last;  but  he  was  very  bad  all  winter 
— and  this  was  such  a  day,  I  could  not  help  going 
to  him  up  in  his  room  before  we  set  off  to  advise 
him  not  to  venture:  he  was  putting  on  his  wig; 
so  I  said,  'Coachman,  you  had  much  better  not 
go;  your  Lady  and  I  shall  be  very  safe;  you 
know  how  steady  Stephen  is,  and  Charles  has 
been  upon  the  leaders  so  often  now,  that  I  am 
sure  there  is  no  fear.'  But,  however,  I  soon 
found  it  would  not  do ;  he  was  bent  upon  going, 
and  as  I  hate  to  be  worrying  and  officious,  I  said 
no  more;  but  my  heart  quite  ached  for  him  at 
[268] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

every  jolt,  and  when  we  got  into  the  rough  lanes 
about  Stoke,  where,  what  with  frost  and  snow 
upon  beds  of  stones,  it  was  worse  than  anything 
you  can  imagine,  I  was  quite  in  an  agony  about 
him.  And  then  the  poor  horses  too!  To  see 
them  straining  away!  You  know  how  I  always 
feel  for  the  horses.  And  when  we  got  to  the  bot- 
tom of  Sandcroft  Hill,  what  do  you  think  I  did? 
You  will  laugh  at  me ;  but  I  got  out  and  walked 
up.  I  did  indeed.  It  might  not  be  saving  them 
nmch,  but  it  was  something,  and  I  could  not  bear 
to  sit  at  my  ease,  and  be  dragged  up  at  the  ex- 
pense of  those  noble  animals.  I  caught  a  dread- 
ful cold,  but  that  I  did  not  regard.  My  object 
was  accomplished  in  the  visit." 

"I  hope  we  shall  always  think  the  acquaintance 
worth  any  trouble  that  might  be  taken  to  estab- 
lish it.  There  is  nothing  very  striking  in  Mr 
Rushworth's  manners,  but  I  was  pleased  last 
night  with  what  appeared  to  be  his  opinion  on 
one  subject;  his  decided  preference  of  a  quiet 
family  party  to  the  bustle  and  confusion  of  act- 
ing. He  seemed  to  feel  exactly  as  one  could 
wish." 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  the  more  you  know  of  him 
the  better  you  will  like  him.  He  is  not  a  shining 
character,  but  he  has  a  thousand  good  qualities; 
and  is  so  disposed  to  look  up  to  you,  that  I  am 
quite  laughed  at  about  it,  for  everybody  con- 

[269] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

siders  it  as  my  doing.  'Upon  my  word,  Mrs 
Norris,'  said  Mrs  Grant,  the  other  day,  'if  Mr 
Rushworth  were  a  son  of  your  own,  he  could  not 
hold  Sir  Thomas  in  greater  respect.'  " 

Sir  Thomas  gave  up  the  point,  foiled  by  her 
evasions,  disarmed  by  her  flattery;  and  was 
obliged  to  rest  satisfied  with  the  conviction  that 
where  the  present  pleasure  of  those  she  loved 
was  at  stake,  her  kindness  did  sometimes  over- 
power her  judgment. 

It  was  a  busy  morning  with  him.  Conversa- 
tion with  any  of  them  occupied  but  a  small  part 
of  it.  He  had  to  reinstate  himself  in  all  the 
wonted  concerns  of  his  Mansfield  life;  to  see  his 
steward  and  his  bailifl* ;  to  examine  and  compute, 
and,  in  the  intervals  of  business,  to  walk  into  his 
stables  and  his  gardens,  and  nearest  plantations; 
but  active  and  methodical,  he  had  not  only  done 
all  this  before  he  resumed  his  seat  as  master  of 
the  house  at  dinner,  he  had  also  set  the  carpenter 
to  work  in  pulling  down  what  had  been  so  late- 
ly put  up  in  the  billiard-room,  and  given  the 
scene-painter  his  dismissal,  long  enough  to  just- 
ify the  pleasing  belief  of  his  being  then  at  least 
as  far  off  as  Northampton.  The  scene-painter 
was  gone,  having  spoilt  only  the  floor  of  one 
room,  ruined  all  the  coachman's  sponges,  and 
made  five  of  the  under  servants  idle  and  dis- 
satisfied; and  Sir  Thomas  was  in  hopes  that  an- 
[270] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

other  day  or  two  would  suffice  to  wipe  away 
every  outward  memento  of  what  had  been,  even 
to  the  destruction  of  every  unbound  copy  of 
"Lover's  Vows"  in  the  house,  for  he  was  burn- 
ing all  that  met  his  eye. 

Mr  Yates  was  beginning  now  to  understand 
Sir  Thomas's  intentions,  though  as  far  as  ever 
from  understanding  their  source.  He  and  his 
friend  had  been  out  with  their  guns  the  chief 
of  the  morning,  and  Tom  had  taken  the  opor- 
tunity  of  explaining,  what  was  to  be  expected. 
Mr  Yates  felt  it  as  acutely  as  might  be  supposed. 
To  be  a  second  time  disappointed  in  the  same  way 
was  an  instance  of  severe  ill  luck;  and  his  in- 
dignation was  such,  that  had  it  not  been  for 
delicacy  towards  his  friend,  and  his  friend's 
youngest  sister,  he  believed  he  should  certainly 
attack  the  baronet  on  the  absurdity  of  his  pro- 
ceedings, and  urge  him  into  a  little  more  ration- 
ality. He  believed  this  very  stoutly  while  he  was 
in  Mansfield  Wood,  and  all  the  way  home;  but 
there  was  a  something  in  Sir  Thomas,  when  they 
sat  round  the  same  table,  which  made  Mr  Yates 
think  it  wiser  to  let  him  pursue  his  own  way,  and 
feel  the  folly  of  it  without  opposition.  He  had 
known  many  disagreeable  fathers  before,  and 
often  been  struck  with  the  inconveniences  they 
occasioned,  but  never,  in  the  whole  course  of 
his  fife,  had  he  seen  one  of  that  class,  so  unin- 

[271] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

telligibly  moral,  so  infamously  tyrannical  as  Sir 
Thomas.  He  was  not  a  man  to  be  endured  but 
for  his  children's  sake,  and  he  might  be  thankful 
to  his  fair  daughter  Julia  that  Mr  Yates  did  yet 
mean  to  stay  a  few  days  longer  under  his  roof. 

The  evening  passed  with  external  smoothness, 
though  almost  every  mind  was  ruffled;  and  the 
music  which  Sir  Thomas  called  for  from  his 
daughters  helped  to  conceal  the  want  of  real 
harmony.  JVIaria  was  in  a  good  deal  of  agita- 
tion. It  was  of  the  utmost  consequence  to  her 
that  Crawford  should  now  lose  no  time  in  de- 
claring himself,  and  she  was  disturbed  that  even 
a  day  should  be  gone  by  without  seeming  to  ad- 
vance that  point.  She  had  been  expecting  to 
see  him  the  whole  morning,  and  all  the  evening, 
too,  was  still  expecting  him.  Mr  Rushworth 
had  set  off  early  with  the  great  news  for  Sother- 
ton;  and  she  had  fondly  hoped  for  such  an  im- 
mediate eclaircissement  as  might  save  him  the 
trouble  of  ever  coming  back  again.  But  they 
had  seen  no  one  from  the  Parsonage,  not  a 
creature,  and  had  heard  no  tidings  beyond  a 
friendly  note  of  congratulation  and  inquiry  from 
Mrs  Grant  to  Lady  Bertram.  It  was  the  first 
day  for  many,  many  weeks,  in  which  the  families 
had  been  wholly  divided.  Four-and-twenty 
hours  had  never  passed  before,  since  August  be- 
gan, without  bringing  them  together  in  some  way 
[272] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

or  other.  It  was  a  sad  anxious  day ;  and  the  mor- 
row, though  differing  in  the  sort  of  evil,  did  by  no 
means  bring  less.  A  few  moments  of  feverish 
enjoyment  were  followed  by  hours  of  acute  suf- 
fering. Henry  Crawford  was  again  in  the 
house:  he  walked  up  with  Dr  Grant,  who  v»as 
anxious  to  pay  his  respects  to  Sir  Thomas,  and 
at  rather  an  early  hour  they  were  ushered  into 
the  breakfast  room,  where  were  most  of  the 
family.  Sir  Thomas  soon  appeared,  and  Maria 
saw  with  delight  and  agitation  the  introduction 
of  the  man  she  loved  to  her  father.  Her  sensa- 
tions were  indefinable,  and  so  were  thej^  a  few 
minutes  afterwards  upon  hearing  Henry  Craw- 
ford, who  had  a  chair  between  herself  and  Tom, 
ask  the  latter  in  an  under  voice,  whether  there 
were  any  plans  for  resuming  the  play  after  the 
present  happy  interruption  (with  a  courteous 
glance  at  Sir  Thomas),  because,  in  that  case, 
he  should  make  a  point  of  returning  to  INIansfield 
at  any  time  required  by  the  party:  he  was  going 
away  immediately,  being  to  meet  his  uncle  at 
Bath  without  delay:  but  if  there  were  any  pros- 
pect of  a  renewal  of  "Lovers'  Vows,"  he  should 
hold  himself  positively  engaged,  he  should  break 
through  every  other  claim;  he  should  absolutely 
condition  with  his  uncle  for  attending  them 
whenever  he  might  be  wanted.  The  play  should 
not  be  lost  by  his  absence. 

[273] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"From  Bath,  Norfolk,  London,  York;  wher- 
ever I  may  be,"  said  he;  "I  will  attend  you  from 
any  place  in  England,  at  an  hour's  notice." 

It  was  well  at  that  moment  that  Tom  had  to 
speak  and  not  his  sister.  He  could  immediately 
say  with  easy  fluency,  "I  am  sorry  you  are  going; 
but  as  to  our  play,  that  is  all  over — entirely  at 
an  end — (looking  significantly  at  his  father). 
The  painter  was  sent  off  yesterday,  and  very 
little  will  remain  of  the  theatre  to-morrow.  I 
knew  how  that  would  be  from  the  first.  It  is 
early  for  Bath.    You  will  find  nobody  there." 

"It  is  about  my  uncle's  usual  time." 

"When  do  you  think  of  going?" 

"I  may,  perhaps,  get  as  far  as  Banbury  to- 
day." 

"Whose  stables  do  you  use  at  Bath?"  was  the 
next  question;  and  while  this  branch  of  the  sub- 
ject was  under  discussion,  IMaria,  who  wanted 
neither  pride  nor  resolution,  was  preparing  to 
encounter  her  share  of  it  with  tolerable  calmness. 

To  her  he  soon  turned,  repeating  much  of  what 
he  had  already  said,  with  only  a  softened  air  and 
stronger  expressions  of  regret.  But  what  availed 
his  expressions  or  his  air?  He  was  going, 
and,  if  not  voluntarily  going,  voluntarily  in- 
tending to  stay  away ;  for,  excepting  what  might 
be  due  to  his  uncle,  his  engagements  were  all 
self-imposed.  He  might  talk  of  necessity,  but 
[274] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

she  knew  his  independence.  The  hand  which 
had  so  pressed  her's  to  his  heart!  the  hand  and 
the  heart  were  ahke  motionless  and  passive  now! 
Her  spirit  supported  her,  but  the  agony  of  her 
mind  was  severe.  She  had  not  long  to  endure 
what  arose  from  listening  to  language  which 
his  actions  contradicted,  or  to  bury  the  tumult 
of  her  feelings  under  the  restraint  of  society; 
for  general  civilities  soon  called  his  notice  from 
her,  and  the  farewell  visit,  as  it  then  became 
openly  acknowledged,  was  a  very  short  one.  He 
was  gone — lie  had  touched  her  hand  for  the  last 
time,  he  had  made  his  parting  bow,  and  she  might 
seek  directly  all  that  solitude  could  do  for  her. 
Henry  Crawford  was  gone,  gone  from  the  house, 
and  within  two  hours  afterwards  from  the  parish; 
and  so  ended  all  the  hopes  his  selfish  vanity  had 
raised  in  IMaria  and  Julia  Bertram. 

Julia  could  rejoice  that  he  was  gone.  His 
presence  was  beginning  to  be  odious  to  her;  and 
if  JNIaria  gained  him  not,  she  was  now  cool  enough 
to  dispense  with  any  other  revenge.  She  did  not 
want  exposure  to  be  added  to  desertion.  Henry 
Crawford  gone,  she  could  even  pity  her  sister. 

With  a  purer  spirit  did  Fanny  rejoice  in  the 
intelligence.  She  heard  it  at  dinner,  and  felt  it 
a  blessing.  By  all  the  others  it  was  mentioned 
with  regret;  and  his  merits  honoured  with  due 
gradation    of    feeling,    from    the    sincerity    of 

[275] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

E.*lmund's  too  partial  regard,  to  the  unconcern 
of  his  mother  speaking  entirely  by  rote.  Mrs 
Noris  began  to  look  about  her,  and  wonder  that 
his  falling  in  love  with  Julia  had  come  to  nothing; 
and  could  almost  fear  that  she  had  been  remiss 
herself  in  forwarding  it;  but  with  so  many  to 
care  for,  how  was  it  possible  for  even  her  activity 
to  keep  pace  with  her  wishes? 

Another  day  or  two,  and  Mr  Yates  was  gone 
likewise.  In  his  departure  Sir  Thomas  felt  the 
chief  interest ;  wanting  to  be  alone  with  his  fam- 
ily, the  presence  of  a  stranger  superior  to  Mr 
Yates  must  have  been  irksome;  but  of  him,  tri- 
fling and  confident,  idle  and  expensive,  it  was 
every  way  vexatious.  In  himself  he  was  weari- 
some, but  as  the  friend  of  Tom  and  the  admirer 
of  Julia  became  offensive.  Sir  Thomas  had 
been  quite  indifferent  to  ]\Ir  Crawford's  going 
or  staying;  but  his  good  wishes  for  JNIr  Yates's 
having  a  pleasant  journey,  as  he  walked  with 
him  to  the  hall  door,  were  given  with  genuine 
satisfaction.  JNIr  Yates  had  staid  to  see  the  de- 
struction of  every  theatrical  preparation  at 
Mansfield,  the  removal  of  everything  appertain- 
ing to  the  play ;  he  left  the  house  in  all  the  sober- 
ness of  its  general  character;  and  Sir  Thomas 
hoped,  in  seeing  him  out  of  it,  to  be  rid  of  the 
worst  object  connected  with  the  scheme,  and  the 
last  that  must  be  inevitably  reminding  him  of  its 
existence. 
[2Y6] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Mrs  Norris  contrived  to  remove  one  article 
from  his  sight  that  might  have  distressed  him. 
The  curtain  over  which  she  had  presided  with 
such  talent  and  such  success,  went  oiF  with  her 
to  her  cottage,  where  she  happened  to  be  partic- 
ularly in  want  of  green  baize. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SIR  THOJNIAS'S  return  made  a  striking 
change  in  the  ways  of  the  family,  in- 
dependent of  Lover's  Vows.  Under  his 
government,  Mansfield  was  an  altered  place. 
Some  members  of  their  society  sent  away,  and 
the  spirits  of  many  others  saddened — it  was  all 
sameness  and  gloom  compared  with  the  past — a 
sombre  family  party  rarely  enlivened.  There 
was  little  intercourse  with  the  Parsonage.  Sir 
Thomas,  drawing  back  from  intimacies  in  gen- 
eral, was  particularly  disinclined,  at  this  time, 
for  any  engagements  but  in  one  quarter.  The 
Rushworths  were  the  only  addition  to  his  own 
domestic  circle  which  he  could  solicit. 

Edmund  did  not  wonder  that  such  should  be 
his  father's  feelings,  nor  could  he  regret  anything 
but  the  exclusion  of  the  Grants.  "But  they," 
he  observed  to   Fanny,   "have   a  claim.     They 

[277] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

seem  to  belong  to  us;  they  seem  to  be  part  of 
ourselves.  I  could  wish  my  father  were  more 
sensible  of  their  very  great  attention  to  my 
mother  and  sisters  while  he  was  away.  I  am 
afraid  they  may  feel  themselves  neglected.  But 
the  truth  is,  that  my  father  hardly  knows  them. 
They  had  not  been  here  a  twelvemonth  when 
he  left  England.  If  he  knew  them  better,  he 
would  value  their  society  as  it  deserves;  for  they 
are  in  fact  exactly  the  sort  of  people  he  would 
like.  We  are  sometimes  a  little  in  want  of  ani- 
mation among  ourselves:  my  sisters  seem  out  of 
spirits,  and  Tom  is  certainly  not  at  his  ease.  Dr 
and  IMrs  Grant  would  enliven  us,  and  make  our 
evenings  pass  away  with  more  enjoyment  even 
to  my  father." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Fanny:  "in  my  opin- 
ion, my  uncle  would  not  like  any  addition.  I 
think  he  values  the  very  quietness  you  speak  of, 
and  that  the  repose  of  his  own  family  circle  is 
all  he  wants.  And  it  does  not  appear  to  me  that 
we  are  more  serious  than  we  used  to  be — I  mean 
before  my  uncle  went  abroad.  As  well  as  I 
can  recollect,  it  was  always  much  the  same. 
There  was  never  much  laughing  in  his  presence; 
0^',  if  there  is  any  difference  it  is  not  more  I 
think  than  such  an  absence  has  a  tendency  to  pro- 
duce at  first.  There  must  be  a  sort  of  shyness: 
but  I  cannot  recollect  that  our  evenings  formerly 
[278] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

were  ever  merry,  except  when  my  uncle  was  in 
town.  No  young  people's  are,  I  suppose,  when 
those  they  look  up  to  are  at  home." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  Fanny,"  was  his  re- 
ply, after  a  short  consideration.  "I  believe  our 
evenings  are  rather  returned  to  what  they  were, 
than  assuming  a  new  character.  The  novelty 
was  in  their  being  lively.  Yet,  how  strong  the 
impression  that  only  a  few  weeks  will  give!  I 
have  been  feeling  as  if  we  had  never  lived  so 
before." 

"I  suppose  I  am  graver  than  other  people," 
said  Fanny.  "The  evenings  do  not  appear  long 
to  me.  I  love  to  hear  my  uncle  talk  of  the  West 
Indies.  I  could  listen  to  him  for  an  hour  to- 
gether. It  entertains  me  more  than  many  other 
things  have  done;  but  then  I  am  unlike  other 
people,  I  dare  say." 

"Why  should  you  dare  say  that?"  (smiling). 
"Do  you  want  to  be  told  that  you  are  unhke 
other  people  in  being  more  wise  and  discreet? 
But  when  did  you,  or  anybody,  ever  get  a  compli- 
ment from  me,  Fanny?  Go  to  my  father  if  you 
want  to  be  complimented.  He  will  satisfy  you. 
Ask  your  uncle  what  he  thinks,  and  you  will  hear 
compliments  enough:  and  though  they  may  be 
chiefly  on  your  person,  you  must  put  up  with 
it,  and  trust  to  his  seeing  as  much  beauty  of 
mind  in  time." 

[279] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Such  language  was  so  new  to  Fanny  that  it 
quite  embarrassed  her. 

"Your  uncle  thinks  j^ou  very  pretty,  dear 
Fanny — and  that  is  the  long  and  the  short  of 
the  matter.  Anybody  but  myself  would  have 
made  something  more  of  it,  and  anybody  but 
you  would  resent  that  you  had  not  been  thought 
very  pretty  before ;  but  the  truth  is,  that  your  un- 
cle never  did  admire  you  till  now — and  now  he 
does.  Your  complexion  is  so  improved! — and 
you  have  gained  so  much  countenance! — and 
your  figure — nay,  Fanny,  do  not  turn  away 
about  it — it  is  but  an  uncle.  If  you  cannot  bear 
an  uncle's  admiration,  what  is  to  become  of  you? 
You  must  really  begin  to  harden  yourself  to  the 
idea  of  being  worth  looking  at.  You  must  try 
not  to  mind  growing  up  into  a  pretty  woman." 

"Oh!  don't  talk  so,  don't  talk  so,"  cried  Fanny, 
distressed  by  more  feelings  than  he  was  aware  of ; 
but  seeing  that  she  was  distressed,  he  had  done 
with  the  subject,  and  only  added  more  serious- 

"Your  uncle  is  disposed  to  be  pleased  with 
you  in  every  respect;  and  I  only  wish  you  would 
talk  to  him  more.  You  are  one  of  those  who  are 
too  silent  in  the  evening  circle." 

"But  I  do  talk  to  him  more  than  I  used.     I 
am  sure  I  do.     Did  not  you  hear  me  ask  him 
about  the  slave-trade  last  night?" 
[280] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"I  did — and  was  in  hopes  the  question  would 
be  followed  up  by  others.  It  would  have  pleased 
your  uncle  to  be  inquired  of  farther." 

"And  I  longed  to  do  it — but  there  was  such 
a  dead  silence!  And  while  my  cousins  were  sit- 
ting by  without  speaking  a  word,  or  seeming  at 
all  interested  in  the  subject,  I  did  not  like — I 
thought  it  would  appear  as  if  I  wanted  to  set 
myself  off  at  their  expense,  by  shewing  a  curios- 
ity and  pleasure  in  his  information  which  he  must 
wish  his  own  daughters  to  feel." 

"Miss  Crawford  was  very  right  in  what  she 
said  of  you  the  other  day:  that  you  seemed  al- 
most as  fearful  of  notice  and  praise  as  other 
women  were  of  neglect.  We  were  talking  of 
you  at  the  Parsonage,  and  those  were  her  words. 
She  has  great  discernment.  I  know  nobody  who 
distinguishes  characters  better.  For  so  young 
a  woman,  it  is  remarkable!  She  certainly  un- 
derstands you  better  than  you  are  understood 
by  the  greater  part  of  those  who  have  known  you 
so  long;  and  with  regard  to  some  others,  I  can 
perceive,  from  occasional  lively  hints,  the  un- 
guarded expressions  of  the  moment,  that  she 
could  define  many  as  accurately,  did  not  delicacy 
forbid  it.  I  wonder  what  she  thinks  of  my 
father!  She  must  admire  him  as  a  fine-looking 
man,  with  most  gentlemanlike,  dignified,  con- 
sistent manners;  but,  perhaps,  having  seen  him 

[281] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

so  seldom,  his  reserve  may  be  a  little  repulsive. 
Could  they  be  much  together,  I  feel  sure  of  their 
liking  each  other.  He  would  enjoy  her  liveli- 
ness and  she  has  talents  to  value  his  powers.  I 
wish  they  met  more  frequently!  I  hope  she 
does  not  suppose  there  is  any  dislike  on  his  side." 

"She  must  know  herself  too  secure  of  the  re- 
gard of  all  the  rest  of  you,"  said  Fanny,  with 
half  a  sigh,  "to  have  any  such  apprehension. 
And  Sir  Thomas's  wishing  just  at  first  to  be 
only  with  his  family,  is  so  very  natural,  that  she 
can  argue  nothing  from  that.  After  a  little 
while  I  dare  say  we  shall  be  meeting  again  in  the 
same  sort  of  way,  allowing  for  the  difference  of 
the  time  of  year." 

"This  is  the  first  October  that  she  has  passed 
in  the  country  since  her  infancy.  I  do  not  call 
Tunbridge  or  Cheltenham  the  country;  and  No- 
vember is  a  still  more  serious  month,  and  I  can 
see  that  Mrs  Grant  is  very  anxious  for  her  not 
finding  INIansfield  dull  as  winter  comes  on." 

Fanny  could  have  said  a  great  deal,  but  it  was 
safer  to  say  nothing,  and  leave  untouched  all 
Miss  Crawford's  resources,  her  accomplishments, 
her  spirits,  her  importance,  her  friends,  lest  it 
should  betra\^  her  into  any  observations  seem- 
ingly unhandsome.  Miss  Crawford's  kind  opin- 
ion of  herself  deserved  at  least  a  grateful  forbear- 
ance, and  she  began  to  talk  of  something  else. 
[282] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"To-morrow,  I  think,  my  uncle  dines  at  Soth- 
erton,  and  you  and  Mr  Bertram  too.  We  shall 
be  quite  a  small  party  at  home.  I  hope  my  uncle 
may  continue  to  like  Mr  Rushworth." 

"That  is  impossible,  Fanny.  He  must  like  him 
less  after  to-morrow's  visit,  for  we  shall  be 
five  hours  in  his  company.  I  should  dread 
the  stupidity  of  the  day,  if  there  were  not  a  much 
greater  evil  to  follow — the  impression  it  must 
leave  on  Sir  Thomas.  He  cannot  much  longer 
deceive  himself.  I  am  sorry  for  them  all,  and 
would  give  something  that  Rushworth  and  INIaria 
had  never  met." 

In  this  quarter,  indeed,  disappointment  was 
impending  over  Sir  Thomas.  Not  all  his  good- 
will for  Mr  Rushworth,  not  all  Mr  Rushworth's 
deference  for  him,  could  prevent  him  from  soon 
discerning  some  part  of  the  truth — that  ]\Ir 
Rushworth  was  an  inferior  young  man,  as  ig- 
norant in  business  as  in  books,  with  opinions 
in  general  unfixed,  and  without  seeming  much 
aware  of  it  himself. 

He  had  expected  a  very  different  son-in-law; 
and  beginning  to  feel  grave  on  Maria's  account, 
tried  to  understand  her  feelings.  Little  obser- 
vation there  was  necessary  to  tell  him  that  in- 
difference was  the  most  favourable  state  they 
could  be  in.  Her  behaviour  to  ^Ir  Rushworth 
was  careless  and  cold.     She  could  not,  did  not 

[283] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

like  him.  Sir  Thomas  resolved  to  speak  seri- 
ously to  her.  Advantageous  as  would  be  the  al- 
liance, and  long  standing  and  public  as  was  the 
engagement,  her  happiness  must  not  be  sacri- 
ficed to  it.  Mr  Rushworth  had,  perhaps,  been 
accepted  on  too  short  an  acquaintance,  and,  on 
knowing  him  better,  she  was  repenting. 

With  solemn  kindness  Sir  Thomas  addressed 
her;  told  her  his  fears,  inquired  into  her  wishes 
entreated  her  to  be  open  and  sincere,  and  assured 
her  that  every  inconvenience  should  be  braved, 
and  the  connection  entirely  given  up,  if  she  felt 
herself  unhappy  in  the  prospect  of  it.  He  would 
act  for  her  and  release  her.  INIaria  had  a  mo- 
ment's struggle  as  she  listened,  and  only  a  mo- 
ment's; when  her  father  ceased,  she  was  able  to 
give  her  answer  immediately,  decidedly,  and  with 
no  apparent  agitation.  She  thanked  him  for  his 
great  attention,  his  paternal  kindness,  but  he 
was  quite  mistaken  in  supposing  she  had  the 
smallest  desire  of  breaking  through  her  engage- 
ment, or  was  sensible  of  any  change  of  opinion 
or  inclination  since  her  forming  it.  She  had  the 
highest  esteem  for  Mr  Rushworth's  character 
and  disposition,  and  could  not  have  a  doubt  of 
her  happiness  with  him. 

Sir  Thomas  was  satisfied;  too  glad  to  be  satis- 
fied, perhaps,  to  urge  the  matter  quite  so  far  as 
his  judgment  might  have  dictated  to  others.     It 

[284]  ^i 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

was  an  alliance  which  he  could  not  have  relin- 
quished without  pain ;  and  thus  he  reasoned.  Mr 
Rushworth  was  young  enough  to  improve.  Mr 
Rushworth  must  and  would  improve  in  good 
society;  and  if  JMaria  could  now  speak  so  se- 
curely of  her  happiness  with  him,  speaking  cer- 
tainly without  the  prejudice,  the  blindness  of 
love,  she  ought  to  be  believed.  Her  feelings, 
probably,  were  not  acute ;  he  had  never  supposed 
them  to  be  so;  but  her  comforts  might  not  be 
less  on  that  account;  and  if  she  could  dispense 
with  seeing  her  husband  a  leading,  shining  char- 
acter, there  would  certainly  be  everything  else 
in  her  favour.  A  well-disposed  young  woman, 
who  did  not  marry  for  love,  was  in  general  but 
the  more  attached  to  her  own  family;  and  the 
nearness  of  Sotherton  to  Mansfield  must  natur- 
ally hold  out  the  greatest  temptation,  and  would, 
in  all  j^robability,  be  a  continual  supply  of  the 
most  amiable  and  innocent  enjoyments.  Such 
and  such-like  were  the  reasonings  of  Sir  Thomas, 
happy  to  escape  the  embarrassing  evils  of  a  rupt- 
ure, the  wonder,  the  reflections,  the  reproach 
that  must  attend  it;  happy  to  secure  a  marriage 
which  would  bring  him  such  an  addition  of  re- 
spectability and  influence,  and  very  happy  to 
think  anything  of  his  daughter's  disposition  that 
was  most  favourable  for  the  purpose. 

To  her  the  conference  closed  as  satisfactorily 

[285] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

as  to  him.  She  was  in  a  state  of  mind  to  be  glad 
that  she  had  secured  her  fate  beyond  recall;  that 
she  had  pledged  herself  anew  to  Sotherton;  that 
she  was  safe  from  the  possibility  of  giving  Craw- 
ford the  triumph  of  governing  her  actions,  and 
destroying  her  prospects;  and  retired  in  proud 
resolve,  determined  only  to  behave  more  cautious- 
ly to  Mr  Rushworth  in  future,  that  her  father 
might  not  be  again  suspecting  her. 

Had  Sir  Thomas  applied  to  his  daughter  with- 
in the  first  three  or  four  days  after  Henry  Craw- 
ford's leaving  Mansfield,  before  her  feelings 
were  at  all  tranquillised,  before  she  had  given 
up  every  hope  of  him,  or  absolutely  resolved  on 
enduring  his  rival,  her  answer  might  have  been 
different;  but  after  another  three  or  four  days, 
when  there  was  no  return,  no  letter,  no  message, 
no  symptom  of  a  softened  heart,  no  hope  of 
advantage  from  separation,  her  mind  became 
cool  enough  to  seek  all  the  comfort  that  pride 
and  self -revenge  could  give.  S 

Henry  Crawford  had  destroyed  her  happiness, 
but  he  should  not  know  tliat  he  had  done  it;  he 
should  not  destroy  her  credit,  her  appearance, 
her  prosperity,  too.  He  should  not  have  to  think 
of  her  as  pining  in  the  retirement  of  Mansfield 
for  him,  rejecting  Sotherton  and  London,  inde- 
pendence and  splendour,  for  his  sake.  Indepen- 
dence was  more  needful  than  ever;  the  want  of 
[286] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

it  at  Mansfield  more  sensibly  felt.  She  was 
less  and  less  able  to  endure  the  restraint  which 
her  father  imposed.  The  liberty  which  his  ab- 
sence had  given  was  now  become  absolutely 
necessary.  She  must  escape  from  him  and 
Mansfield  as  soon  as  possible,  and  find  consola- 
tion in  fortune  and  consequence,  bustle  and  the 
world,  for  a  wounded  spirit.  Her  mind  was 
quite  determined,  and  varied  not. 

To  such  feelings  delay,  even  the  delay  of  much 
preparation,  would  have  been  an  evil,  and  Mr 
Rushworth  could  hardly  be  more  impatient  for 
the  marriage  than  herself.  In  all  the  important 
preparations  of  the  mind  she  was  complete:  be- 
ing prepared  for  matrimony  by  an  hatred  of 
home,  restraint,  and  tranquillity;  by  the  misery 
of  disappointed  affection,  and  contempt  of  the 
man  she  was  to  marry.  The  rest  might  wait. 
The  preparations  of  new  carriages  and  furniture 
might  wait  for  London  and  spring,  when  her 
own  taste  could  have  fairer  play. 

The  principals  being  all  agreed  in  this  respect, 
it  soon  appeared  that  a  very  few  weeks  would  be 
sufficient  for  such  arrangements  as  must  precede 
the  wedding. 

Mrs  Rushworth  was  quite  ready  to  retire,  and 
make  way  for  the  fortunate  young  woman  her 
dear  son  had  selected ;  and  very  early  in  Novem- 
ber removed  herself,  her  maid,  her  footman,  and 

[287] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

her  chariot,  with  true  dowager  propriety,  to  Bath, 
there  to  parade  over  the  wonders  of  Sotherton 
in  her  evenings  parties;  enjoying  them  as  thor- 
oughly, perhaps,  in  the  animation  of  a  card- 
table  as  she  had  ever  done  on  the  spot;  and  be- 
fore the  middle  of  the  same  month  the  ceremony 
had  taken  place  which  gave  Sotherton  another 
mistress. 

It  was  a  very  proper  wedding.  The  bride 
was  elegantly  dressed;  the  two  bridesmaids  were 
duly  inferior;  her  father  gave  her  away;  her 
mother  stood  with  salts  in  her  hand,  expecting 
to  be  agitated ;  her  aunt  tried  to  cry ;  and  the  ser- 
vice was  impressively  read  by  Dr  Grant.  Noth- 
ing could  be  objected  to  when  it  came  under  the 
discussion  of  the  neighbourhood,  except  that  the 
carriage  which  conveyed  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom and  Julia  from  the  church  door  to  Sother- 
ton was  the  same  chaise  which  Mr  Rushworth  had 
used  for  a  twelvemonth  before.  In  everything 
else  the  etiquette  of  the  day  might  stand  the 
strictest  investigation. 

It  was  done,  and  they  were  gone.  Sir  Thomas 
felt  as  an  anxious  father  must  feel,  and  was  in- 
deed experiencing  much  of  the  agitation  which 
his  wife  had  been  apprehensive  of  for  herself, 
but  had  fortunately  escaped.  ISIrs  Norris,  most 
happy  to  assist  in  the  duties  of  the  day,  by  spend- 
ing it  at  the  Park  to  support  her  sister's  spirits, 
[288] 


f 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

and  drinking  the  health  of  Mr  and  Mrs  Rush- 
worth  in  a  supernumerary  glass  or  two,  was  all 
joyous  delight;  for  she  had  made  the  match;  she 
had  done  everything;  and  no  one  would  have 
supposed,  from  her  conhdent  triumph,  that  she 
had  ever  heard  of  conjugal  infelicity  in  her  life, 
or  could  have  the  smallest  insight  into  the  dis- 
position of  the  neice  who  had  been  brought  up 
under  her  eye. 

The  plan  of  the  young  couple  was  to  proceed, 
after  a  few  days,  to  Brighton,  and  take  a  house 
there  for  some  weeks.  Every  public  place  was 
new  to  Maria,  and  Brighton  is  almost  as  gay 
in  winter  as  in  sunmier.  When  the  novelty  of 
amusement  there  was  over,  [it]  would  be  time 
for  the  wider  range  of  London. 

Julia  was  to  go  with  them  to  Brighton.  Since 
rivalry  between  the  sisters  had  ceased,  they  had 
been  gradually  recovering  much  of  their  former 
good  understanding ;  and  were  at  least  sufficiently 
friends  to  make  each  of  them  exceedingly  glad 
to  be  with  the  other  at  such  a  time.  Some  other 
companion  than  INIr  Rushworth  was  of  the  first 
consequence  to  his  lady;  and  Julia  was  quite  as 
eager  for  novelty  and  pleasure  as  Maria,  though 
she  might  not  have  struggled  through  so  much 
to  obtain  them,  and  could  better  bear  a  subordin- 
ate situation. 

Their  departure  made  another  material  change 

[289] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

at  Mansfield,  a  chasm  which  required  some  time 
to  fill  up.  The  family  circle  became  greatly 
contracted;  and  though  the  Miss  Bertrams  had 
latterly  added  little  to  its  gaiety,  they  could  not 
but  be  missed.  Even  their  mother  missed  them ; 
and  how  much  more  their  tender-hearted  cousin, 
who  wandered  about  the  house,  and  thought  of 
them,  and  felt  for  them,  with  a  degree  of  affec- 
tionate regret  which  they  had  never  done  much 
to  deserve! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

FANNY'S  consequence  increased  on  the  de- 
parture of  her  cousins.  Becoming,  as  she 
then  did,  the  only  young  woman  in  the 
drawing-room,  the  only  occupier  of  that  interest- 
ing division  of  a  family  in  which  she  had  hitherto 
held  so  humble  a  third,  it  was  impossible  for  her 
not  to  be  more  looked  at,  more  thought  of  and 
attended  to,  than  she  had  ever  been  before;  and 
"where  is  Fanny?"  became  no  uncommon  ques- 
tion, even  without  her  being  wanted  for  any  one's 
convenience. 

Not  only  at  home  did  her  value  increase,  but 

at  the  Parsonage  too.     In  that  house  which  she 

had  hardly  entered  twice  a  year  since  Mr  Norris's 

death,  she  became  a  welcome,  an  invited  guest, 

[290] 


aiiu  ill  aiiu  din  ui   a 

most  a  .  >  Mary  Crawl 

there,  1  ig  by  chance,  w( 

sohcitation.  Mrs  Grant,  i 


most  important   opporti 

in  pressing  her  frequent  calls. 

Fanny,  '  been  s     "    ' 

some  erranv.  .  .nr  !  " 

a  heavy  showei 
descried  from  one  of 
to  find  shelter  under  the  o. 
ing  leaves  of  :•-       '    *"  '  ' 

was   forced,   i:     .^      

reluctance  on  her  part,  to  come  in.     A  civ; 
vant  she  had  withstood;  but  when  Dr  ( 
went  out  with  an  ' 

i..i,g  to  be  done  but  to  ^  » 
:;ih1  to  get  into  the  house 
to  poor  Miss  Crawford,  who  ha. 
«^ip^                           !  rain  in  a 
state  oi   i\                                      ■' 
nlan  of  ex' 

nee  of  seeing  a  single  creatui 
■ves  for  the  next  twenty-four  hou; 

^  'Ppi^^g  with  vv(  !    • 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

at  Mansfield,  a  chasm  which  required  some  time 
to  fill  up.     The  family  circle  became  greatly, 
contracted;  and  though  the  Miss  Bertrams  had 
latterly  added  little  to  its  gaiety,  they  could  not 
but  be  missed.     Even  their  mother  missed  them 
and  how  much  more  their  tender-hearted  cousin 
\^ho  wandered  about  the  house,  and  thought  o1' 
'?'     1,  and  felt  for  them,  with  a  degree  of  aif el- 
ite reffref  whicli  tlwv  ]):.)<]  ueYcv  done  muc]; 
to  deserve! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

FA^  consequence  increased  on  the  de- 

;f  her  cousins.     Becoming,  as  she 
*!ie  only  '-   •       woman  in  the 
>>nly  oci    ^         )f  that  interest- 
ing division  of  a  family  in  which  she  had  Fiitherto 
held  so  humble  a  third,  it  was  impossible  for  her 
'     '  ^     '    ^  at,  more  thought  of  and 

a..- .  .    .     ., ....   iiad  ever  been  before;  and 

"where  is  Fanny?"  became  no  unconmion  ques 
tion,  even  without  her  being  wanted  for  any  one's 

Kijur  aid  her  value  incre.        '  "* 
c  ton.     In  that  house  wl 

death,  siie  oecame  a  welcome,  an  invited  guest, 
[290] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

and  in  the  gloom  and  dirt  of  a  November  day, 
most  acceptable  to  Mary  Crawford.  Her  visits 
there,  beginning  by  chance,  were  continued  by 
solicitation.  Mrs  Grant,  really  eager  to  get 
any  change  for  her  sister,  could,  by  the  easiest 
self-deceit,  persuade  herself  that  she  was  doing 
the  kindest  thing  by  Fanny,  and  giving  her  the 
most  important  opportunities  of  improvement 
in  pressing  her  frequent  calls. 

Fanny,  having  been  sent  into  the  village  on 
some  errand  by  her  aunt  Norris,  was  overtaken  by 
a  heavy  shower  close  to  the  Parsonage ;  and  being 
descried  from  one  of  the  windows  endeavouring 
to  find  shelter  under  the  branches  and  linger- 
ing leaves  of  an  oak  just  beyond  their  premises, 
was  forced,  though  not  without  some  modest 
reluctance  on  her  part,  to  come  in.  A  civil  ser- 
vant she  had  withstood;  but  when  Dr  Grant 
himself  went  out  with  an  umbrella,  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  but  to  be  very  much  ashamed, 
and  to  get  into  the  house  as  fast  as  possible ;  and 
to  poor  Miss  Crawford,  who  had  just  been  con- 
templating the  dismal  rain  in  a  very  desponding 
state  of  mind,  sighing  over  the  ruin  of  all  her 
plan  of  exercise  for  that  morning,  and  of  every 
chance  of  seeing  a  single  creature  beyond  them- 
selves for  the  next  twenty- four  hours,  the  sound 
of  a  little  bustle  at  the  front  door,  and  the  sight 
of  Miss  Price  dripping  with  wet  in  the  vesti- 

[291] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

bule,  was  delightful.  The  value  of  an  event  on 
a  wet  day  in  the  country  was  most  forcibly 
brought  before  her.  She  was  all  alive  again 
directly,  and  among  the  most  active  in  being  use- 
ful to  Fanny,  in  detecting  her  to  be  wetter  than 
she  would  at  first  allow,  and  providing  her  with 
dry  clothes;  and  Fanny,  after  being  obliged  to 
submit  to  all  this  attention,  and  to  being  assisted 
and  waited  on  by  mistresses  and  maids,  being  al- 
so obliged,  on  returning  down  stairs,  to  be  fixed 
in  their  drawing-room  for  an  hour  while  the  rain 
continued,  the  blessing  of  something  fresh  to  see 
and  think  of  was  thus  extended  to  ]VIiss  Craw- 
ford, and  might  carry  on  her  spirits  to  the  period 
of  dressing  and  dinner. 

The  two  sisters  were  so  kind  to  her,  and  so 
pleasant,  that  Fanny  might  have  enjoyed  her 
visit  could  she  have  believed  herself  not  in  the 
way,  and  could  she  have  foreseen  that  the  weather 
would  certainly  clear  at  the  end  of  the  hour,  and 
save  her  from  the  shame  of  having  Dr  Grant's 
carriage  and  horses  out  to  take  her  home,  with 
which  she  was  threatened.  As  to  anxiety  for  any 
alarm  that  her  absence  in  such  weather  might  oc- 
casion at  home,  she  had  nothing  to  suffer  on  that 
score;  for  as  her  being  out  was  known  only  to 
her  two  aunts,  she  was  perfectly  aware  that  none 
would  be  felt,  and  that  in  whatever  cottage  aunt 
Norris  might  chuse  to  establish  her  during  the 
[292] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

rain,  her  being  in  such  cottage  would  be  indubit- 
able to  aunt  Bertram. 

It  was  beginning  to  look  brighter,  when 
Fanny,  observing  a  harp  in  the  room,  asked  some 
questions  about  it,  which  soon  led  to  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  her  wishing  very  much  to  hear  it, 
and  a  confession,  which  could  hardly  be  believed, 
of  her  having  never  yet  heard  it  since  its  being  in 
Mansfield.  To  Fanny  herself  it  appeared  a  very 
simple  and  natural  circumstance.  She  had 
scarcely  ever  been  at  the  Parsonage  since  the  in- 
strument's arrival,  there  had  been  no  reason  that 
she  should;  but  Miss  Crawford,  calling  to  mind 
an  early  expressed  wish  on  the  subject,  was  con- 
cerned at  her  own  neglect;  and  "shall  I  play  to 
you  now?"  and  "what  will  you  have?"  were  ques- 
tions immediately  following  with  the  readiest 
good  humour. 

She  played  accordingly;  happy  to  have  a  new 
listener,  and  a  listener  who  seemed  so  much 
obliged,  so  full  of  wonder  at  the  performance, 
and  who  shewed  herself  not  wanting  in  taste. 
She  played  till  Fanny's  eyes,  straying  to  the  win- 
dow on  the  weather's  being  evidently  fair,  spoke 
what  she  felt  must  be  done. 

"Another  quarter  of  an  hour,"  said  Miss  Craw- 
ford, "and  we  shall  see  how  it  will  be.  Do  not 
run  away  the  first  moment  of  its  holding  up. 
Those  clouds  look  alarming." 

[293] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 


"But  they  are  passed  over,"  said  Fanny.     "I      i 
have  been  watching  them.     This  weather  is  all 
from  the  south." 

"South  or  north,  I  know  a  black  cloud  when  I  < 
see  it;  and  you  must  not  set  forward  while  it  is 
so  threatening.  And  besides  I  want  to  play 
something  more  to  you — a  very  pretty  piece — 
and  your  cousin  Edmund's  prime  favourite. 
You  must  stay  and  hear  your  cousin's  favourite." 

Fanny  felt  that  she  must ;  and  though  she  had 
not  waited  for  that  sentence  to  be  thinking  of 
Edmund,  such  a  memento  made  her  particularly 
awake  to  his  idea,  and  she  fancied  him  sitting  in 
that  room  again  and  again,  perhaps  in  the  very 
spot  where  she  sat  now,  listening  with  constant 
delight  to  the  favourite  air,  played,  as  it  appeared 
to  her,  with  superior  tone  and  expression;  and 
though  pleased  with  it  herself,  and  glad  to  like 
whatever  was  liked  by  him,  she  was  more  sin- 
cerely impatient  to  go  away  at  the  conclusion  of  it 
than  she  had  been  before;  and  on  this  being  evi- 
dent, she  was  so  kindly  asked  to  call  again,  to 
take  them  in  her  walk  whenever  she  could,  to 
come  and  hear  more  of  the  harp,  that  she  felt  it 
necessary  to  be  done,  if  no  objection  arose  at 
home. 

Such  was  the  origin  of  the  sort  of  intimacy 
which  took  place  between  them  within  the  first 
fortnight  after  the  Miss  Bertrams'  going  away — 
[294] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

an  intimacy  resulting  principally  from  Miss 
Crawford's  desire  of  something  new,  and  which 
had  little  reality  in  Fanny's  feelings.  Fanny 
went  to  her  every  two  or  three  days:  it  seemed 
a  kind  of  fascination :  she  could  not  be  easy  with- 
out going,  and  yet  it  was  without  loving  her, 
without  ever  thinking  like  her,  without  any  sense 
of  obligation  for  being  sought  after  now  when 
nobody  else  was  to  be  had ;  and  deriving  no  higher 
pleasure  from  her  conversation  than  occasional 
amusement,  and  that  often  at  the  expense  of  her 
judgment,  when  it  was  raised  by  pleasantry  on 
people  or  subjects  which  she  wished  to  be  re- 
spected. She  went,  however,  and  they  sauntered 
about  together  many  an  half  hour  in  Mrs  Grant's 
shrubbery,  the  weather  being  unusually  mild  for 
the  time  of  year,  and  venturing  sometimes  even 
to  sit  down  on  one  of  the  benches  now  compara- 
tively unsheltered,  remaining  there  perhaps  till, 
in  the  midst  of  some  tender  ejaculation  of 
Fanny's,  on  the  sweets  of  so  protracted  an 
autumn,  they  were  forced  by  the  sudden  swell 
of  a  cold  gust  shaking  down  the  last  few  yellow 
leaves  about  them,  to  jump  up  and  walk  for 
warmth. 

"This  is  pretty,  very  pretty,"  said  Fanny,  look- 
ing around  her  as  they  were  thus  sitting  together 
one  day;  "every  time  I  come  into  this  shrubbery 
I  am  more  struck  with  its  growth  and  beauty. 

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MANSFIELD    PARK 

Three  years  ago,  this  was  nothing  but  a  rough 
hedgerow  along  the  upper  side  of  the  field, 
never  thought  of  as  anything,  or  capable  of  be- 
coming anything;  and  now  it  is  converted  into 
a  walk,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether 
most  valuable  as  a  convenience  or  an  ornament; 
and  perhaps,  in  another  three  years  we  may  be 
forgetting — almost  forgetting  what  it  was  be- 
fore. How  wonderful,  how  very  wonderful  the 
operations  of  time,  and  the  changes  of  the  human 
mind!"  And  following  the  latter  train  of 
thought,  she  soon  afterwards  added:  "If  any 
one  faculty  of  our  nature  may  be  called  7jiore 
wonderful  than  the  rest,  I  do  think  it  is  memory. 
There  seems  something  more  speakingly  in- 
comprehensible in  the  powers,  the  failure,  the 
inequalities  of  memory,  than  in  any  other  of  our 
intelligences.  The  memory  is  sometimes  so  re- 
tentive, so  serviceable,  so  obedient:  at  others,  so 
bewildered  and  so  weak;  and  at  others  again,  so 
tyrannic  so  beyond  control!  We  are,  to  be  sure 
a  miracle  every  way;  but  our  powers  of  recollect- 
ing and  of  forgetting  do  seem  peculiarly  past 
finding  out." 

Miss  Crawford,  untouched  and  inattentive, 
had  nothing  to  say;  and  Fanny,  perceiving  it. 
brought  back  her  own  mind  to  what  she  thought 
must  interest. 

"It  may  seem  impertinent  in  me  to  praise,  but 
[296] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

I  must  admire  the  taste  Mrs  Grant  has  shewn 
in  all  this.  There  is  such  a  quiet  simplicity  in 
the  plan  of  the  walk !     Not  too  much  attempted !" 

"Yes,"  replied  Miss  Crawford,  carelessly,  "it 
does  very  well  for  a  place  of  this  sort.  One 
does  not  think  of  extent  here;  and  between  our- 
selves, till  I  came  to  Mansfield,  I  had  not 
imagined  a  country  parson  ever  aspired  to  a 
shrubbery,  or  anything  of  the  kind." 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  the  evergreens  thrive!" 
said  Fanny,  in  reply.  "My  uncle's  gardener  al- 
ways says  the  soil  here  is  better  than  his  own, 
and  so  it  aj^pears  from  the  growth  of  the  laurels 
and  evergreens  in  general.  The  evergreen! 
How  beautiful,  how  welcome,  how  wonderful  the 
evergreen!  When  one  thinks  of  it,  how  aston- 
ishing a  variety  of  nature!  In  some  countries 
we  know  the  tree  that  sheds  its  leaf  is  the  variety, 
but  that  does  not  make  it  less  amazing,  that  the 
same  soil  and  the  same  sun  should  nurture  plants 
differing  in  the  first  rule  and  law  of  their  exist- 
ence. You  will  think  me  rhapsodizing ;  but  when 
I  am  out  of  doors,  especially  when  I  am  sitting 
out  of  doors,  I  am  very  apt  to  get  into  this  sort 
of  wondering  strain.  One  cannot  fix  one's  eyes 
on  the  commonest  natural  production  without 
finding  food  for  a  rambling  fancy." 

"To  say  the  truth,"  replied  Miss  Crawford, 
"I  am  something  like  the  famous  Doge  at  the 

[297] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 


court  of  Lewis  XIV.;  and  may  declare  that  I 
see  no  wonder  in  this  shrubbery  equal  to  seeing 
myself  in  it.  If  anybody  had  told  me  a  year 
ago  that  this  place  would  be  my  home,  that  I 
should  be  spending  month  after  month  here,  as 
I  have  done,  I  certainly  should  not  have  believed 
them.  I  have  now  been  here  nearly  five  months ; 
and,  moreover,  the  quietest  five  months  I  ever 
passed." 

^'Too  quiet  for  you,  I  believe." 

"I  should  have  thought  so  theoretically  my 
self,  but,"  and  her  eyes  brightened  as  she  spoke, 
"take  it  all  and  all,  I  never  spent  so  happy  a 
summer.  But  then,"  with  a  more  thoughtful  air 
and  lowered  voice,  "there  is  no  saying  what  it 
may  lead  to." 

Fanny's  heart  beat  quick,  and  she  felt  quite 
unequal  to  surmizing  or  soliciting  anything  more. 
Miss  Crawford,  however,  with  renewed  anima- 
tion, soon  went  on: — 

"I  am  conscious  of  being  far  better  recon- 
ciled to  a  country  residence  than  I  had  ever  ex- 
pected to  be.  I  can  even  suppose  it  pleasant  to 
spend  half  the  year  in  the  country,  under  certain 
circumstances,  very  pleasant.  An  elegant,  mod- 
erate sized  house  in  the  centre  of  family  con- 
nections; continual  engagements  among  them; 
commanding  the  first  society  in  the  neighbour- 
hood; looked-up  to,  perhaps,  as  leading  it  even 
[298] 


I 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

more  than  those  of  larger  fortune,  and  turning 
from  the  cheerful  round  of  such  amusements 
to  nothing  worse  than  a  tete-a-tete  with  the  per- 
son one  feels  most  agreeable  in  the  world.  There 
is  nothing  frightful  in  such  a  picture,  is  there, 
Miss  Price?  One  need  not  envy  the  new  Mrs 
Rushworth  with  such  a  home  as  that"  "Envy 
Mrs  Rushworth!"  was  all  that  Fanny  attempted 
to  say.  "Come,  come,  it  would  be  very  unhand- 
some in  us  to  be  severe  on  Mrs  Rushworth,  for 
I  look  forward  to  our  owing  her  a  great  many 
gay,  brilliant,  happy  hours.  I  expect  we  shall 
be  all  very  much  at  Sotherton  another  year. 
Such  a  match  as  Miss  Bertram  has  made  is  a 
public  blessing;  for  the  first  pleasures  of  Mr 
Rushworth's  wife  must  be  to  fill  her  house,  and 
give  the  best  balls  in  the  country." 

Fanny  was  silent,  and  Miss  Crawford  relapsed 
into  thought  fulness,  till  suddenly  looking  up  at 
the  end  of  a  few  minutes,  she  exclaimed,  "Ah! 
here  he  is."  It  was  not  Mr  Rushworth,  however, 
but  Edmund,  who  then  appeared  walking 
towards  them  with  Mrs  Grant.  "My  sister  and 
Mr  Bertram.  I  am  so  glad  your  eldest  cousin 
is  gone,  that  he  may  be  Mr  Bertram  again. 
There  is  something  in  the  sound  of  Mr  Edmund 
Bertram  so  formal,  so  pitiful,  so  younger-bro- 
ther-lik^,  that  I  detest  it." 

"How  differently  we  feel!"  cried  Fanny."    To 

[299] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

me,  the  sound  of  Mr  Bertram  is  so  cold  and  noth- 
ing-meaning, so  entirely  without  warmth  or  char- 
acter! It  just  stands  for  gentleman,  and  that's 
all.  But  there  is  nobleness  in  the  name  of 
Edmund.  It  is  a  name  of  heroism  and  renown; 
of  kings,  princes,  and  knights;  and  seems  to 
breathe  the  spirit  of  chivalry  and  warm  af- 
fections." 

"I  grant  you  the  name  is  good  in  itself,  and 
Lord  Edmund  or  Sir  Edmund  sound  delightful- 
ly; but  sink  it  under  the  chill,  the  annihilation  of 
a  Mr  and  Mr  Edmund  is  no  more  than  Mr  John 
or  ]Mr  Thomas.  Well,  shall  we  join  and  disap- 
point them  of  half  their  lecture  upon  sitting  down 
out  of  doors  at  this  time  of  year,  by  being  up 
before  they  can  begin?" 

Edmund  met  them  with  particular  pleasure. 
It  was  the  first  time  of  his  seeing  them  together 
since  the  beginning  of  that  better  acquaintance 
which  he  had  been  hearing  of  with  great  satis- 
faction. A  friendship  between  two  so  very 
dear  to  him  was  exactly  what  he  could  have 
wished:  and  to  the  credit  of  the  lover's  under- 
standing, be  it  stated,  that  he  did  not  by  any 
means  consider  Fanny  as  the  only,  or  even  as 
the  greater  gainer  by  such  a  friendship. 

"Well,"  said  INIiss  Crawford,  "and  do  you  not 
scold  us  for  our  imprudence?  What  do  you 
think  we  have  been  sitting  down  for  but  to  be 
[300] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

talked  to  about  it,  and  entreated  and  supplicated 
never  to  do  so  again?" 

"Perhaps  I  might  have  scolded,"  said 
Edmund,  "if  either  of  you  had  been  sitting  down 
alone;  but  while  you  do  wrong  together,  I  can 
overlook  a  great  deal." 

"They  cannot  have  been  sitting  long,"  cried 
Mrs  Grant,  "for  when  I  went  up  for  my  shawl 
I  saw  them  from  the  staircase  window,  and  then 
they  were  walking." 

"And  really,"  added  Edmund,  "the  day  is  so 
mild,  that  your  sitting  down  for  a  few  minutes 
can  be  hardly  thought  imprudent.  Our  weather 
must  not  always  be  judged  by  the  calendar.  We 
may  sometimes  take  greater  liberties  in  Novem- 
ber than  in  May." 

"Upon  my  word,"  cried  Miss  Crawford,  "you 
are  two  of  the  most  disappointing  and  unfeel- 
ing kind  friends  I  ever  met  with!  There  is  no 
giving  you  a  moment's  uneasiness.  You  do  not 
know  how  much  we  have  been  suffering,  nor 
what  chills  we  have  felt!  But  I  have  long 
thought  Mr  Bertram  one  of  the  worst  subjects 
to  work  on,  in  any  little  manoeuvre  against  com- 
mon sense,  that  a  woman  could  be  plagued  with. 
I  had  very  little  hope  of  him  from  the  first ;  but 
you,  Mrs  Grant,  my  sister,  my  own  sister,  I  think 
I  had  a  right  to  alarm  you  a  little." 

"Do  not  flatter  yourself,  my  dearest  Mary. 

[301] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

You  have  not  the  smallest  chance  of  moving  me. 
I  have  my  alarms,  but  they  are  quite  in  a  differ- 
ent quarter;  and  if  I  could  have  altered  the 
weather,  you  would  have  had  a  good  sharp  east 
wind  blowing  on  you  the  whole  time — for  here 
are  some  of  my  plants  which  Robert  will  leave 
out  because  the  nights  are  so  mild,  and  I  know 
the  end  of  it  will  be,  that  we  shall  have  a  sudden 
change  of  weather,  a  hard  frost  setting  in  all 
at  once,  taking  everybody  (at  least  Robert)  by 
surprize,  and  I  shall  lose  every  one;  and  what 
is  worse,  cook  has  just  been  telling  me  that  tur- 
key, which  I  particularly  wished  not  to  be  dressed 
till  Sunday,  because  I  know  how  much  more  Dr 
Grant  would  enjoy  it  on  Sunday  after  the  fa- 
tigues of  the  day,  will  not  keep  beyond  to-mor- 
row. These  are  something  like  grievances,  and 
make  me  think  the  weather  most  unseasonably 
close." 

"The  sweets  of  housekeeping  in  a  country  vil- 
lage!" said  Miss  Crawford,  archly.  "Commend 
me  to  the  nurseryman  and  the  poulterer." 

"My  dear  child,  commend  Dr  Grant  to  the 
deanery  of  Westminster  or  St  PauFs,  and  I 
should  be  as  glad  of  your  nurseryman  and  poul- 
terer as  you  could  be.  But  we  have  no  such 
people  in  Mansfield.  What  would  you  have  me 
do?" 

"Oh!  you  can  do  nothing  but  what  you  do  al- 
[302] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

ready:  be  plagued  very  often,  and  never  lose 
your  temper." 

"Thank  you;  but  there  is  no  escaping  these 
little  vexations,  Mary,  live  where  we  may;  and 
when  you  are  settled  in  town  and  I  come  to  see 
you,  I  dare  say  I  shall  find  you  with  yours,  in 
spite  of  the  nurseryman  and  the  poulterer — or 
perhaps  on  their  very  account.  Their  remote- 
ness and  unpunctuality,  or  their  exorbitant 
charges  aad  frauds,  will  be  drawing  forth  bitter 
lamentations." 

"I  mean  to  be  too  rich  to  lament  or  to  feel 
anything  of  the  sort.  A  large  income  is  the  best 
recipe  for  happiness  I  ever  heard  of.  It  certainly 
may  secure  all  the  myrtle  and  turkey  part  of  it." 

"You  intend  to  be  very  rich?"  said  Edmund, 
with  a  look  which,  to  Fanny's  eye,  had  a  great 
deal  of  serious  meaning. 

"To  be  sure.     Do  not  you?     Do  not  we  all?" 

"I  cannot  intend  anything  which  it  must  be  so 
completely  beyond  my  power  to  command. 
Miss  Crawford  may  chuse  her  degree  of  wealth. 
I  She  has  only  to  fix  on  her  number  of  thousands 
a  year,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  their  com- 
ing. My  intentions  are  only  not  to  be  poor." 
By  moderation  and  economy,  and  bringing 
down  your  wants  to  your  income,  and  all  that. 
I  understand  you — and  a  very  proper  plan  it  is 
for  a  person  at  your  time  of  life,  with  such  limited 

[303] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

means  and  indifferent  connections.  What  can 
you  want  but  a  decent  maintenance?  You  have 
not  much  time  before  you;  and  your  relations 
are  in  no  situation  to  do  anything  for  you,  or 
to  mortify  you  by  the  contrast  of  their  own 
wealth  and  consequence.  Be  honest  and  poor, 
by  all  means — but  I  shall  not  envy  you ;  I  do  not 
much  think  I  shall  even  respect  you.  I  have  a 
much  greater  respect  for  those  that  are  honest 
and  rich." 

"Your  degree  of  respect  for  honesty,  rich  or 
poor,  is  precisely  what  I  have  no  manner  of  con- 
cern with.  I  do  not  mean  to  be  poor.  Poverty 
is  exactly  what  I  have  determined  against. 
Honesty,  in  the  something  between,  in  the  middle 
state  of  wordly  circumstances,  is  all  that  I  am 
anxious  for  your  not  looking  down  on." 

"But  I  do  look  down  upon  it,  if  it  might  have 
been  higher.  I  must  look  down  upon  anything 
contented  with  obscurity  when  it  might  rise  to 
distinction?" 

"But  how  may  it  rise?  How  may  my  honesty 
at  least  rise  to  any  distinction?" 

This  was  not  so  very  easy  a  question  to  answer 
and  ocasioned  an  "Oh!"  of  some  length  from 
the  fair  lady  before  she  could  add,  "You  ought 
to  be  in  parliament,  or  you  should  have  gone 
into  the  army  ten  years  ago." 

**That  is  not  much  to  the  purpose  now;  and 
[304] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

as  to  my  being  in  parliament,  I  believe  I  must 
\\ait  till  there  is  an  especial  assembly  for  the 
representation  of  younger  sons  who  have  little 
to  live  on.  No,  Miss  Crawford,"  he  added,  in 
a  more  serious  tone,  "there  are  distinctions  which 
I  should  be  miserable  if  I  thought  myself  without 
any  chance — absolutely  without  chance  or  pos- 
sibility of  obtaining — but  they  are  of  a  different 
character." 

A  look  of  consciousness,  as  he  spoke,  and  what 
seemed  a  consciousness  of  manner  on  Miss  Craw- 
ford's side  as  she  made  some  laughing  answer, 
was  sorrowful  food  for  Fanny's  observation; 
and  finding  herself  quite  unable  to  attend  as  she 
ought  to  INIrs  Grant,  by  whose  side  she  was  now 
following  the  others,  she  had  nearly  resolved  on 
going  home  immediately,  and  only  waited  for 
courage  to  say  so,  when  the  sound  of  the  great 
clock  at  Mansfield  Park,  striking  three,  made 
her  feel  that  she  had  really  been  much  longer 
absent  than  usual,  and  brought  the  previous  self- 
inquiry  of  whether  she  should  take  leave  or  not 
just  then,  and  how,  to  a  very  speedy  issue.  With 
undoubting  decision  she  directly  began  her 
adieus;  and  Edmund  began  at  the  same  time  to 
recollect,  that  his  mother  had  been  inquiring  for 
her,  and  that  he  had  walked  down  to  the  Parson- 
age on  purpose  to  bring  her  back. 

Fanny's  hurry  increased;  and  without  in  the 

[305] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

least  expecting  Edmund's  attendance,  she  would 
have  hastened  away  alone;  but  the  general  pace 
was  quickened,  and  they  all  accompanied  her  into 
the  house  through  which  it  was  necessary  to  pass. 
Dr  Grant  was  in  the  vestibule,  and  as  they  stopt 
to  speak  to  him  she  found,  from  Edmund's  man- 
ner, that  he  did  mean  to  go  with  her.  He,  too, 
was  taking  leave.  She  could  not  but  be  thank- 
ful. In  the  moment  of  parting,  Edmund  was 
invited  b}^  Dr  Grant  to  eat  his  mutton  with  him 
the  next  day ;  and  Fanny  had  barely  time  for  an 
unpleasant  feeling  on  the  occasion,  when  Mrs 
Grant,  with  sudden  recollection,  turned  to  her, 
and  asked  for  the  pleasure  of  her  company  too. 
This  was  so  new  an  attention,  so  perfectly  new  a 
circumstance  in  the  events  of  Fanny's  life,  that 
she  was  all  surprise  and  embarrassment;  and 
while  stammering  out  her  obligation,  and  her — 
"but  she  did  not  suppose  it  would  be  in  her 
power,"  was  looking  at  Edmund  for  his  opinion 
and  help.  But  Edmund,  delighted  with  her  hav- 
ing such  an  happiness  offered,  and  ascertaining 
with  half  a  look,  and  half  a  sentence,  that  she  had 
no  objection  but  on  her  aunt's  account,  could  not 
imagine  that  his  mother  would  make  any  difficul- 
ty of  sparing  her,  and  therefore  gave  his  decided 
open  advice  that  the  invitation  should  be  ac- 
cepted; and  though  Fanny  would  not  venture, 
even  on  his  encouragement,  to  such  a  flight  of 
[306] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

audacious  independence,  it  was  soon  settled,  that 
if  nothing  were  heard  to  the  contrary,  Mrs  Grant 
might  expect  her. 

"And  you  know  what  your  dinner  will  be," 
said  Mrs  Grant,  smiling — "the  turkey,  and  I  as- 
sure you  a  very  fine  one;  for,  my  dear,"  turning 
to  her  husband,  "cook  insists  upon  the  turkey's 
being  dressed  to-morrow." 

"Very  well,  very  well,"  cried  Dr  Grant,  "all 
the  better ;  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  have  any  thing 
so  good  in  the  house.  But  Miss  Price  and  Mr 
Edmund  Bertram,  I  dare  say,  would  take  their 
chance.  We  none  of  us  want  to  hear  the  bill 
of  fare.  A  friendly  meeting,  and  not  a  fine  din- 
ner, is  all  we  have  in  view.  A  turkey,  or  a  goose, 
or  a  leg  of  mutton,  or  whatever  you  and  your 
cook  chuse  to  give  us." 

The  two  cousins  walked  home  together ;  and,  ex- 
cept in  the  immediate  discussion  of  this  engage- 
ment, which  Edmund  spoke  of  with  the  warmest 
satisfaction,  as  so  particularly  desirable  for  her 
in  the  intimacy  which  he  saw  with  so  much  pleas- 
ure established,  it  was  a  silent  walk;  for  having 
finished  that  subject,  he  grew  thoughtful  and  in- 
disposed for  any  other. 


[307] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

UT  why  should  INIrs  Grant  ask  Fanny?" 
said  Lady  Bertram.  "How  came  she 
to  think  of  asking  Fanny?  Fanny 
never  dines  there,  you  know,  in  this  sort  of  way. 
I  cannot  spare  her,  and  I  am  sure  she  does  not 
want  to  go.  Fanny,  you  do  not  want  to  go, 
do  you?" 

"If  you  put  such  a  question  to  her,"  cried 
Edmund,  preventing  his  cousin's  speaking, 
"Fanny  will  immediately  say,  No;  but  I  am  sure, 
my  dear  mother,  she  would  like  to  go ;  and  I  can 
see  no  reason  why  she  should  not." 

"I  cannot  imagine  why  Mrs  Grant  should 
think  of  asking  her?  She  never  did  before. 
She  used  to  ask  your  sisters  now  and  then,  but 
she  never  asked  Fanny." 

"If  you  cannot  do  without  me,  ma'am " 

said  Fanny,  in  a  self-denying  tone. 

"But  my  mother  will  have  my  father  with  her 
all  the  evening." 

"To  be  sure,  so  I  shall." 

"Suppose  you  take  my  father's  opinion, 
ma'am." 

"That's  well  thought  of.     So  I  will,  Edmund. 
I  will  ask  Sir  Thomas,  as  soon  as  he  comes  in, 
whether  I  can  do  without  her." 
[308] 


1 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"As  you  please,  ma'am,  on  that  head;  but  I 
meant  my  father's  opinion  as  to  the  propriety  of 
the  invitation's  being  accepted  or  not;  and  I 
think  he  will  consider  it  a  right  thing  by  Mrs 
Grant,  as  well  as  by  Fanny,  that  being  the  first 
invitation  it  should  be  accepted." 

"I  do  not  know.  We  will  ask  him.  But  he 
will  be  very  much  surprized  that  Mrs  Grant 
should  ask  Fanny  at  all." 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said,  or  that 
could  be  said,  to  any  purpose,  till  Sir  Thomas 
were  present;  but  the  subject  involving,  as  it  did, 
her  own  evening's  comfort  for  the  morrow,  was 
so  much  uppermost  in  Lady  Bertram's  mind, 
that  half  an  hour  afterwards,  on  his  looking  in 
for  a  minute  in  his  way  from  his  plantation  to 
his  dressing-room,  she  called  him  back  again, 
when  he  had  almost  closed  the  door,  with  "Sir 
Thomas,  stop  a  moment — I  have  something  to 
say  to  you." 

Her  tone  of  calm  languor,  for  she  never  took 
the  trouble  of  raising  her  voice,  was  always  heard 
and  attended  to;  and  Sir  Thomas  came  back. 
Her  story  began;  and  Fanny  immediately  slip- 
ped ottt  of  the  room ;  for  to  hear  herself  the  sub- 
ject of  any  discussion  with  her  uncle  was  more 
than  her  nerves  could  bear.  She  was  anxious, 
she  knew — more  anxious  perhaps  than  she  ought 
to  be — for  what  was  it  after  all  whether  she  went 

[309] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

or  staid  ?  but  if  her  uncle  were  to  be  a  great  while 
considering  and  deciding,  and  with  very  grave 
looks  directed  to  her,  and  at  last  decide  against 
her,  she  might  not  be  able  to  appear  properly 
submissive  and  indifferent.  Her  cause,  mean- 
while, went  on  well.  It  began,  on  Lady  Ber- 
tram's part,  with — "I  have  something  to  tell  you 
that  will  surprize  you.  Mrs  Grant  has  asked 
Fanny  to  dinner." 

"Well,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  as  if  waiting  more 
to  accomplish  the  surprize. 

"Edmund  wants  her  to  go.  But  how  can  I 
spare  her?" 

"She  will  be  late,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  taking 
out  his  watch;  "but  what  is  your  difficulty?" 

Edmund  found  himself  obliged  to  speak  and 
fill  up  the  blanks  in  his  mother's  story.  He  told 
the  whole;  and  she  had  only  to  add,  "So  strange! 
for  Mrs  Grant  never  used  to  ask  her." 

"But  is  it  not  very  natural,"  observed 
Edmund,  "that  INIrs  Grant  should  wish  to  pro- 
cure so  agreeable  a  visitor  for  her  sister?" 

"Nothing  can  be  more  natural,"  said  Sir 
Thomas,  after  a  short  deliberation;  "nor,  were 
there  no  sister  in  the  case,  could  anything,  in  my 
opinion,  be  more  natural.  JNIrs  Grant's  shewing 
civilitj^  to  Miss  Price,  to  Lady  Bertram's  neice, 
could  never  want  explanation.  The  only  sur- 
prize I  can  feel  is,  that  this  should  be  the  first 
[310] 


MANSFIELD   PARK 

time  of  its  being  paid.  Fanny  was  perfectly 
right  in  giving  only  a  conditional  answer.  She 
appears  to  feel  as  she  ought.  But  as  I  conclude 
that  she  must  wish  to  go,  since  all  young  people 
like  to  be  together,  I  can  see  no  reason  why  she 
should  be  denied  the  indulgence." 

"But  can  I  do  without  her.  Sir  Thomas?" 

"Indeed  I  think  you  may." 

"She  always  makes  tea,  you  know,  when  my 
sister  is  not  here." 

"Your  sister,  perhaps,  may  be  prevailed  on 
to  spend  the  day  with  us,  and  I  shall  certainly  be 
at  home." 

"Very  well,  then,  Fanny  may  go,  Edmund." 

The  good  news  soon  followed  her.  Edmund 
knocked  at  her  door  in  his  way  to  his  own. 

"Well,  Fanny,  it  is  all  happily  settled,  and 
without  the  smallest  hesitation  on  your  uncle's 
side.     He  had  but  one  opinion.     You  are  to  go." 

"Thank  you,  I  am  so  glad,"  was  Fanny's  in- 
stinctive reply ;  though  when  she  had  turned  from 
him  and  shut  the  door,  she  could  not  help  feeling, 
"And  yet  why  should  I  be  glad?  for  am  I  not  cer- 
tain of  seeing  or  hearing  something  there  to 
pain  me?" 

In  spite  of  this  conviction,  however,  she  was 
glad.  Simple  as  such  an  engagement  might  ap- 
pear in  other  eyes,  it  had  novelty  and  importance 
in  her's,  for  excepting  the  day  at  Sotherton, 

[311] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

she  had  scarcely  ever  dined  out  before;  and 
though  now  going  only  half  a  mile,  and  only  to 
three  people,  still  it  was  dining  out,  and  all  the 
little  interests  of  preparation  were  enjoyments 
in  themselves.  She  had  neither  sympathy  nor 
assistance  from  those  who  ought  to  have  entered 
into  her  feelings  and  directed  her  taste ;  for  Lady 
Bertram  never  thought  of  being  useful  to  any- 
body, and  Mrs  Norris,  when  she  came  on  the 
morrow,  in  consequence  of  an  early  call  and  in- 
vitation from  Sir  Thomas,  was  in  a  very  ill 
humour,  and  seemed  intent  only  on  lessening  her 
viiece's  pleasure,  both  present  and  future,  as  much 
as  possible. 

"Upon  my  word,  Fanny,  you  are  in  high  luck 
to  meet  with  such  attention  and  indulgence! 
You  ought  to  be  very  much  obliged  to  Mrs  Grant 
for  thinking  of  you,  and  to  your  aunt  for  letting 
you  go,  and  you  ought  to  look  upon  it  as  some- 
thing extraordinary;  for  I  hope  you  are  aware 
that  there  is  no  real  occasion  for  your  going  into 
company  in  this  sort  of  way,  or  ever  dining  out 
at  all;  and  it  is  what  you  must  not  depend  upon 
ever  being  repeated.  Nor  must  you  be  fancy- 
ing that  the  invitation  is  meant  as  any  particular 
compliment  to  you;  the  compliment  is  intended 
to  your  uncle  and  aunt  and  me.  Mrs  Grant 
thinks  it  a  civility  due  to  us  to  take  a  little  notice 
of  you,  or  else  it  would  never  have  come  into  her 
[312] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

head,  and  you  may  be  very  certain,  that  if  your 
cousin  Julia  had  been  at  home,  you  would  not 
have  been  asked  at  all." 

Mrs  Norris  had  now  so  ingeniously  done  away 
all  Mrs  Grant's  part  of  the  favour,  that  Fanny, 
who  found  herself  expected  to  speak,  could  only 
say  that  she  was  very  much  obliged  to  her  aunt 
Bertram  for  sparing  her,  and  that  she  was  en- 
deavom'ing  to  put  her  aunt's  evening  work  in 
such  a  state  as  to  prevent  her  being  missed. 

"Oh!  depend  upon  it,  your  aunt  can  do  very 
well  without  you,  or  you  would  not  be  allowed 
to  go.  /  shall  be  here,  so  you  may  be  quite  easy 
about  your  aunt.  And  I  hope  you  will  have  a 
very  agreeable  day,  and  find  it  all  mighty  delight- 
ful. But  I  must  observe  that  five  is  the  very 
awkwardest  of  all  possible  numbers  to  sit  down 
to  table ;  and  I  cannot  but  be  surprized  that  such 
an  elegant  lady  as  Mrs  Grant  should  not  con- 
trive better!  And  round  their  enormous  great 
wide  table,  too,  which  fills  up  the  room  so  dread- 
fully! Had  the  Doctor  been  contented  to  take 
my  dining  table  when  I  came  away,  as  anybody 
in  their  senses  would  have  done,  instead  of  having 
that  absurd  new  one  of  his  own,  which  is  wider, 
literally  wider  than  the  dinner  table  here,  how 
infinitely  better  it  would  have  been!  and  how 
much  more  he  would  have  been  respected!  for 
people  are  never  respected  when  they  step  out 

[313] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

of  their  proper  sphere.  Remember  that,  Fanny. 
Five — only  five  to  be  sitting  round  that  table. 
However,  you  will  have  dinner  enough  on  it  for 
ten,  I  dare  say." 

Mrs  Norris  fetched  breath,  and  went  on  again. 

"The  nonsense  and  folly  of  people's  stepping 
out  of  their  rank  and  trying  to  appear  above 
themselves,  makes  me  think  it  right  to  give  you 
a  hint,  Fanny,  now  that  you  are  going  into  com- 
pany without  any  of  us ;  and  I  do  beseech  and  en- 
treat you  not  to  be  putting  yourself  forward, 
and  talking  and  giving  your  opinion  as  if  you 
were  one  of  your  cousins,  as  if  you  were  dear 
Mrs  Rushworth  or  Julia.  That  will  never  do, 
believe  me.  Remember,  wherever  you  are,  you 
must  be  lowest  and  last ;  and  though  Miss  Craw- 
ford is  in  a  manner  at  home  at  the  Parsonage, 
you  are  not  to  be  taking  place  of  her.  And  as 
to  coming  away  at  night,  you  are  to  stay  just 
as  long  as  Edmund  chuses.  Leave  him  to  set- 
tle that." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  should  not  think  of  anvthing 
else." 

"And  if  it  should  rain,  which  I  think  exceed- 
ingly likely,  for  I  never  saw  it  more  threatening 
for  a  wet  evening  in  my  life,  you  must  manage 
as  well  as  you  can,  and  not  be  expecting  the  car- 
riage to  be  sent  for  you.  I  certainly  do  not  go 
home  to-night,  and,  therefore,  the  carriage  will 
[314] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

not  be  out  on  my  account;  so  you  must  make  up 
your  mind  to  what  may  happen,  and  take  your 
things  accordingly." 

Her  niece  thought  it  perfectly  reasonable. 
She  rated  her  own  claims  to  comfort  as  low  even 
as  Mrs  Norris  could;  and  when  Sir  Thomas, 
soon  afterwards,  just  opening  the  door,  said, 
"Fanny,  at  what  time  would  you  have  the  car- 
riage come  round?"  she  felt  a  degree  of  astonish- 
ment which  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  speak. 

"My  dear  Sir  Thomas!"  cried  Mrs  Norris,  red 
with  anger,  "Fanny  can  walk." 

"Walk!"  repeated  Sir  Thomas,  in  a  tone  of 
most  unanswerable  dignity,  and  coming  farther 
into  the  room.  "]My  niece  walk  to  a  dinner  en- 
gagement at  this  time  of  the  year!  Will  twenty 
minutes  after  four  suit  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  Fanny's  humble  answer,  given 
with  the  feelings  almost  of  a  criminal  towards 
Mrs  Norris ;  and  not  bearing  to  remain  with  her  in 
what  might  seem  a  state  of  triumph,  she  followed 
her  uncle  out  of  the  room,  having  staid  behind 
only  long  enough  to  hear  these  words  spoken 
in  angry  agitation: — 

"Quite  unnecessary!  a  great  deal  too  kind! 
But  Edmund  goes;  true,  it  is  upon  Edmund's 
account.  I  observed  he  was  hoarse  on  Thursday 
night." 

But  this  could  not  impose  on  Fanny.     She  felt 

[315] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

that  the  carriage  was  for  herself,  and  herself, 
alone;  and  her  uncle's  consideration  of  her,  com- 
ing immediately  after  such  representations  from 
her  aunt,  cost  her  some  tears  of  gratitude  when 
she  was  alone. 

The  coachman  drove  round  to  a  minute;  an- 
other minute  brought  do\\Ti  the  gentleman;  and 
as  the  lady  had,  with  a  most  scrupulous  fear  of  be- 
ing late,  been  many  minutes  seated  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. Sir  Thomas  saw  them  off  in  as  good 
time  as  his  own  correctly  punctual  habits  re- 
quired. 

"Now  I  must  look  at  you,  Fanny,"  said 
Edmund,  with  the  kind  smile  of  an  affectionate 
brother,  "and  tell  you  how  I  like  you;  and  as  well 
as  I  can  judge  by  this  light,  you  look  very  nicely 
indeed.     What  have  you  got  on?" 

"The  new  dress  that  my  uncle  was  so  good  as  to 
give  me  on  my  cousin's  marriage.  I  hope  it  is 
not  too  fine ;  but  I  thought  I  ought  to  wear  it  as 
soon  as  I  could,  and  that  I  might  not  have  such 
another  opportunity  all  the  winter.  I  hope  you 
do  not  think  me  too  fine." 

"A  woman  can  never  be  too  fine  while  she  is 
all  in  white.  No,  I  see  no  finery  about  you ;  noth- 
ing but  what  is  perfectly  proper.  Your  gown 
seems  very  pretty.  I  like  these  glossy  spots. 
Has  not  Miss  Crawford  a  gown  something  the 

[316] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

In  approaching  the  Parsonage  they  passed 
close  by  the  stable-yard  and  coach-house. 

"Hey-day!"  said  Edmund,  "here's  company, 
here's  a  carriage!  who  have  they  got  to  meet  us?" 
And  letting  down  the  side-glass  to  distinguish, 
"  'Tis  Crawford's,  Crawford's  barouche,  I  pro- 
test! There  are  his  own  two  men  pushing  it 
back  into  its  old  quarters.  He  is  here,  of  course. 
This  is  quite  a  surprize,  Fanny.  I  shall  be  very 
glad  to  see  him." 

There  was  no  occasion,  there  was  no  time  for 
Fanny  to  say  how  very  differently  she  felt;  but 
the  idea  of  having  such  another  to  observe  her, 
was  a  great  increase  of  the  trepidation  with  which 
she  performed  the  very  aweful  ceremony  of 
walking  into  the  drawing-room. 

In  the  drawing-room  Mr  Crawford  certainly 
was;  having  been  just  long  enough  arrived  to 
be  ready  for  dinner;  and  the  smiles  and  pleased 
looks  of  the  three  others  standing  round  him, 
showed  how  welcome  was  his  sudden  resolution  of 
coming  to  them  for  a  few  days  on  leaving  Bath. 
A  very  cordial  meeting  passed  between  him  and 
Edmund;  and  with  the  exception  of  Fanny,  the 
pleasure  was  general;  and  even  to  her,  there 
might  be  some  advantage  in  his  presence,  since 
every  addition  to  the  party  must  rather  forward 
her  favourite  indulgence  of  being  suffered  to  sit 
silent  and  unattended  to.     She  was  soon  aware 

[317] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

of  this  herself;  for  though  she  must  submit,  as 
her  own  propriety  of  mind  directed,  in  spite  of 
her  aunt  Norris's  opinion,  to  being  the  principal 
lad}^  in  compan5%  and  to  all  the  little  distinctions 
consequent  thereon,  she  found,  Avhile  they  were 
at  table,  such  a  happy  flow  of  conversation  pre- 
vailing, in  which  she  was  not  required  to  take 
any  part — there  was  so  much  to  be  said  between 
the  brother  and  sister  about  Bath,  so  much  be- 
tween the  two  young  men  about  hunting,  so  much 
of  politics  between  Mr  Crawford  and  Dr  Grant, 
and  of  everything  and  all  together  between  ]\Ir 
Crawford  and  Mrs  Grant,  as  to  leave  her  the 
fairest  prospect  of  having  only  to  listen  in  quiet, 
and  of  passing  a  very  agreeable  day.  She  could 
not  compliment  the  newly-arrived  gentleman, 
however,  with  any  appearance  of  interest,  in  a 
scheme  for  extending  his  stay  at  INIansfield  and 
sending  for  his  hunters  from  Norfolk,  which, 
suggested  by  Dr  Grant,  advised  by  Edmund, 
and  warmly  urged  by  the  two  sisters,  was  soon 
in  possession  of  his  mind,  and  which  he  seemed 
to  want  to  be  encouraged  even  by  her  to  resolve 
on.  Her  opinion  was  sought  as  to  the  probable 
continuance  of  the  open  weather,  but  her  answers 
were  as  short  and  indifferent  as  civility  allowed. 
She  could  not  wish  him  to  stay,  and  would  much 
rather  not  have  him  speak  to  her. 

Her  two  absent  cousins,  especially  Maria,  were 
[318] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

much  in  her  thoughts  on  seeing  him;  but  no  em- 
barrassing remembrance  affected  his  spirits. 
Here  he  was  again  on  the  same  ground  where  all 
had  passed  before,  and  apparently  as  willing  to 
stay  and  be  happy  without  the  INIiss  Bertrams,  as 
if  he  had  never  known  IVIansfield  in  any  other 
state.  She  heard  them  spoken  of  by  him  only 
in  a  general  way,  till  they  were  all  re-assembled 
in  the  drawing-room,  when  Edmund,  being  en- 
gaged apart  in  some  matter  of  business  with  Dr 
Grant,  which  seemed  entirely  to  engross  them, 
and  Mrs  Grant  occupied  at  the  tea-table,  he  be- 
gan talking  of  them  with  more  particularity  to 
his  other  sister.  With  a  significant  smile,  which 
made  Fanny  quite  hate  him,  he  said,  "So  Rush- 
worth  and  his  fair  bride  are  at  Brighton,  I  under- 
stand; happy  man!" 

"Yes,  they  have  been  there  about  a  fortnight, 
Miss  Price,  have  they  not?  And  Julia  is  with 
them." 

"And  Mr  Yates,  I  presume,  is  not  far  off." 

"Mr  Yates!  Oh!  we  hear  nothing  of  Mr 
Yates.  I  do  not  imagine  he  figures  much  in  the 
letters  to  Mansfield  Park;  do  you,  Miss  Price? 
I  think  my  friend  Julia  knows  better  than  to  en- 
tertain her  father  with  Mr  Yates." 

"Poor  Rushworth  and  his  two-and-forty 
speeches!"  continued  Crawford.  "Nobody  can 
ever  forget  them.  Poor  fellow  I     I  see  him  now 

[319] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

— his  toil  and  his  despair.  Well,  I  am  much  mis- 
taken if  his  lovely  Maria  will  ever  want  him  to 
make  two-and- forty  speeches  to  her;"  adding, 
with  a  momentary  seriousness,  "She  is  too  good 
for  him — much  too  good."  And  then  changing  his 
tone  again  to  one  of  gentle  gallantry,  and  ad- 
dressing Fanny,  he  said,  "You  were  Mr  Rush- 
worth's  best  friend.  Your  kindness  and  pa- 
tience can  never  be  forgotten,  your  indefatigable 
patience  in  trying  to  make  it  possible  for  him  to 
learn  his  part — in  trying  to  give  him  a  brain  which 
nature  had  denied — to  mix  up  understanding  for 
him  out  of  the  superfluity  of  your  own!  He 
might  not  have  sense  enough  himself  to  estimate 
your  kindness,  but  I  may  venture  to  say  that  it 
had  honour  from  all  the  rest  of  the  party." 

Fanny  coloured,  and  said  nothing. 

"It  is  a  dream,  a  pleasant  di'eam!"  he  ex- 
claimed, breaking  forth  again,  after  a  few  min- 
utes' musing.  "I  shall  always  look  back  on  our 
theatricals  with  exquisite  pleasure.  There  was 
such  an  interest,  such  an  animation,  such  a  spirit 
diffused.  Everybody  felt  it.  We  were  all  alive. 
There  was  employment,  hope,  solicitude,  bus- 
tle, for  every  hour  of  the  day.  Always  some 
little  objection,  some  little  doubt,  some  little 
anxiety  to  be  got  over.     I  never  was  happier." 

With  silent  indignation,  Fanny  repeated  to 
herself,  "Never  happier! — never  happier  than 
[320] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

when  doing  what  you  must  know  was  not  justi- 
fiable ! — never  happier  than  when  behaving  so  dis- 
honourably and  unfeelingly!  Oh!  what  a  cor- 
rupted mind!" 

"We  were  unlucky,  Miss  Price,"  he  continued, 
in  a  lower  tone,  to  avoid  the  possibility  of  being 
heard  by  Edmund,  and  not  at  all  aware  of  her 
feelings,  "we  certainly  were  very  unlucky.  An- 
other week,  only  one  other  week,  would  have 
been  enough  for  us.  I  think  if  we  had  had  the 
disposal  of  events — if  Mansfield  Park  had  had 
the  government  of  the  winds  just  for  a  week  or 
two,  about  the  equinox,  there  would  have  been 
a  difference.  Not  that  we  would  have  endan- 
gered his  safety  by  any  tremendous  weather — 
but  only  by  a  steady  contrary  wind,  or  a  calm. 
I  think,  Miss  Price,  we  would  have  indulged 
ourselves  with  a  week's  calm  in  the  Atlantic  at 
that  season." 

He  seemed  determined  to  be  answered;  and 
Fanny  averting  her  face,  said  with  a  firmer  tone 
than  usual,  "As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  sir,  I 
would  not  have  delayed  his  return  for  a  day. 
My  uncle  disapproved  it  all  so  entirely  when  he 
did  arrive,  that  in  my  opinion  everything  had 
gone  quite  far  enough." 

She  had  never  spoken  so  much  at  once  to  him 
in  her  life  before,  and  never  so  angrily  to  any 
one ;  and  when  her  speech  was  over,  she  trembled 

[321] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

and  blushed  at  her  o\^ti  daring.  He  was  sur- 
prized ;  but  after  a  few  moments'  silent  considera- 
tion of  her,  replied  in  a  calmer,  graver  tone, 
and  as  if  the  candid  result  of  conviction,  "I  be- 
lieve you  are  right.  It  was  more  pleasant  than 
prudent.  We  were  getting  too  noisy."  And 
then  turning  the  conversation,  he  would  have  en- 
gaged her  on  some  other  subject,  but  her  answers 
were  so  slty  and  reluctant  that  he  could  not  ad- 
vance in  any. 

Miss  Crawford,  M^ho  had  been  repeatedly  eye- 
ing Dr  Grant  and  Edmund,  now  observed, 
"Those  gentlemen  must  have  some  very  inter- 
esting point  to  discuss." 

"The  most  interesting  in  the  world,"  replied 
her  brother — "how  to  make  money;  how  to  turn 
a  good  income  into  a  better.  Dr  Grant  is  giv- 
ing Bertram  instructions  about  the  living  he  is 
to  step  into  so  soon.  I  find  he  takes  orders  in  a 
few  weeks.  They  were  at  it  in  the  dining-par- 
lour.  I  am  glad  to  hear  Bertram  will  be  so  well 
off.  He  will  have  a  very  pretty  income  to  make 
ducks  and  drakes  with,  and  earned  without  much 
trouble.  I  apprehend  he  Mnll  not  have  less  than 
seven  hundred  a  year.  Seven  hundred  a  year  is 
a  fine  thing  for  a  younger  brother;  and  as  of 
course  he  will  still  live  at  home,  it  will  be  all  for 
his  menus  plaisirs;  and  a  sermon  at  Christmas  and 
Easter,  I  suppose,  will  be  the  sum  total  of  sacri- 
fice." 

[322] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

His  sister  tried  to  laugh  off  her  feehngs  by 
saying,  "Nothing  amuses  me  more  than  the  easy 
manner  with  which  everybody  settles  the  abund- 
ance of  those  who  have  a  great  deal  less  than 
themselves.  You  would  look  rather  blank, 
Henry,  if  your  menus  plaisirs  were  to  be  limited 
to  seven  hundred  a  year." 

"Perhaps  I  might;  but  all  that  you  know  is 
entirely  comparative.  Birthright  and  habit  must 
settle  the  business.  Bertram  is  certainly  well  off 
for  a  cadet  of  even  a  baronet's  family.  By  the 
time  he  is  four  or  five  and  twenty  he  will  have 
seven  hundred  a  year,  and  nothing  to  do  for  it." 

Miss  Crawford  could  have  said  that  there 
would  be  a  something  to  do  and  to  suffer  for 
it,  which  she  could  not  think  lightly  of;  but  she 
checked  herself  and  let  it  pass ;  and  tried  to  look 
calm  and  unconcerned  when  the  two  gentlemen 
shortly  afterwards  joined  them. 

"Bertram,"  said  Henry  Crawford,  "I  shall 
make  a  point  of  coming  to  Mansfield  to  hear 
you  preach  your  first  sermon.  I  shall  come  on 
purpose  to  encourage  a  young  beginner.  When 
is  it  to  be?  Miss  Price,  will  not  you  engage  to 
attend  with  your  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  him  the 
whole  time — as  I  shall  do — not  to  lose  a  word; 
or  only  looking  off  just  to  note  down  any  sen- 
tence pre-eminently  beautiful?  We  will  pro- 
vide ourselves  with  tablets  and  a  pencil.    When 

[323] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

will  it  be?  You  must  preach  at  Mansfield,  you 
Iinow,  that  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Bertram  may 
hear  you." 

"I  shall  keep  clear  of  you,  Crawford,  as  long 
cis  I  can,"  said  Edmund;  "for  you  would  be  more 
likely  to  disconcert  me,  and  I  should  be  more 
sorry  to  see  you  trying  at  it  than  almost  any 
other  man." 

"Will  he  not  feel  this?"  thought  Fanny;. 
"No,  he  can  feel  nothing  as  he  ought." 

The  party  being  now  all  united,  and  the  chief 
talkers  attracting  each  other,  she  remained  in 
tranquillity;  and  as  a  whist  table  was  formed  af- 
ter tea — formed  really  for  the  amusement  of 
Dr  Grant,  by  his  attentive  wife,  though  it  was 
not  to  be  supposed  so — and  Miss  Crawford  took 
her  harp,  she  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  listen ;  and 
her  tranquillity  remained  undisturbed  the  rest  of 
the  evening,  except  when  Mr  Crawford  now  and 
then  addressed  her  a  question  or  observation, 
which  she  could  not  avoid  answering.  Miss 
Crawford  was  too  much  vexed  by  what  had 
passed  to  be  in  a  humour  for  anything  but  music. 
With  that  she  soothed  herself  and  amused  her 
friend. 

The  assurance  of  Edmund's  being  so  soon  to 

take  orders,  coming  upon  her  like  a  blow  that 

had  been  suspended,  and  still  hoped  uncertain 

and  at  a  distance,  was  felt  with  resentment  and 

[324] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

mortification.  She  was  very  angry  with  him. 
She  had  thought  her  influence  more.  She  had 
begun  to  think  of  him;  she  felt  that  she  had, 
with  great  regard,  with  almost  decided  intentions ; 
but  she  would  now  meet  him  with  his  own  feel- 
ings It  was  plain  that  he  could  have  no  serious 
views,  no  true  attachment,  by  fixing  himself  in  a 
situation  which  he  must  know  she  would  never 
stoop  to.  She  would  learn  to  match  him  in  his 
indifference.  She  would  henceforth  admit  his 
attentions  without  any  idea  beyond  immediate 
amusement.  If  he  could  so  command  his  affec- 
tions, her's  should  do  her  no  harm. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

HENRY  CRAWFORD  had  quite  made 
up  his  mind  by  the  next  morning  to  give 
another  fortnight  to  Mansfield,  and 
having  sent  for  his  hunters,  and  written  a  few 
lines  of  explanation  to  the  Admiral,  he  looked 
round  at  his  sister  as  he  sealed  and  threw  the  let- 
ter from  him,  and  seeing  the  coast  clear  of  the 
rest  of  the  family,  said,  with  a  smile,  "And  how 
do  you  think  I  mean  to  amuse  myself,  Mary, 
on  the  days  that  I  do  not  hunt  ?  I  am  grown  too 
old  to  go  out  more  than  three  times  a-week ;  but  I 

[325] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

have  a  plan  for  the  intermediate  days,  and  what 
do  you  think  it  is?" 

"To  walk  and  ride  with  me,  to  be  sure." 

"Not  exactly,  though  I  shall  be  happy  to  do 
both,  but  that  would  be  exercise  only  to  my  body, 
and  I  must  take  care  of  my  mind.  Besides,  that 
would  be  all  recreation  and  indulgence,  without 
the  wholesome  alloy  of  labour,  and  I  do  not  like 
to  eat  the  bread  of  idleness.  No,  my  plan  is 
to  make  Fanny  Price  in  love  with  me." 

"Fanny  Price!  Nonsense!  No,  no.  You 
ought  to  be  satisfied  with  her  two  cousins." 

"But  I  cannot  be  satisfied  without  Fanny 
Price,  without  making  a  small  hole  in  Fanny 
Price's  heart.  You  do  not  seem  properly  aware 
of  her  clamis  to  notice.  When  we  talked  of  her 
last  night,  you  none  of  you  seemed  sensible  of 
the  wonderful  improvement  that  has  taken  place 
in  her  looks  within  the  last  six  weeks.  You  see 
her  every  day,  and  therefore  do  not  notice  it; 
but  I  assure  you  she  is  quite  a  different  creature 
from  what  she  was  in  the  autumn.  She  was  then 
merely  a  quiet,  modest,  not  plain-looking  girl, 
but  she  is  now  absolutely  pretty.  I  used  to  think 
she  had  neither  complexion  nor  countenance;  but 
in  that  soft  skin  of  her's,  so  frequently  tinged 
with  a  blush  as  it  was  yesterday,  there  is  decided 
beauty;  and  from  what  I  observed  of  her  eyes 
and  mouth,  I  do  not  despair  of  their  being  cap- 
[326] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

able  of  expression  enough  when  she  has  any- 
thing to  express.  And  then,  her  air,  her  manner, 
her  tout  ensemble,  is  so  indescribably  improved! 
She  must  be  grown  two  inches,  at  least,  since 
October." 

"Phoo!  phoo!  This  is  only  because  there  were 
no  tall  women  to  compare  her  with,  and  because 
she  has  got  a  new  gown,  and  you  never  saw  her 
so  well  dressed  before.  She  is  just  what  she  was 
in  October,  believe  me.  The  truth  is,  that  she 
was  the  only  girl  in  company  for  you  to  notice, 
and  you  must  have  a  somebody.  I  have  alwaj^s 
thought  her  pretty — not  strikingly  pretty — but 
'pretty  enough,'  as  people  say;  a  sort  of  beauty 
that  grows  on  one.  Her  eyes  should  be  darker, 
but  she  has  a  sweet  smile ;  but  as  for  this  wonder- 
ful degree  of  improvement,  I  am  sure  it  may 
all  be  resolved  into  a  better  style  of  dress,  and 
your  having  nobody  else  to  look  at;  and  there- 
fore, if  you  do  set  about  a  flirtation  with  her, 
you  never  will  persuade  me  that  it  is  in  compli- 
ment to  her  beauty,  or  that  it  proceeds  from  any- 
thing but  your  own  idleness  and  folly." 

Her  brother  gave  only  a  smile  to  this  acusa- 
tion,  and  soon  afterwards  said,  "I  do  not  quite 
know  what  to  make  of  JNIiss  Fanny.  I  do  not 
understand  her.  I  could  not  tell  what  she  would 
be  at  yesterday.  What  is  her  character?  Is 
she  solemn?     Is  she    queer?     Is    she    prudish? 

[327] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Why  did  she  draw  back  and  look  so  grave  at  me  ? 
I  could  hardly  get  her  to  speak.  I  never  was 
so  long  in  company  with  a  girl  in  my  life,  trying 
to  entertain  her,  and  succeed  so  ill!  Never  met 
with  a  girl  who  looked  so  grave  on  me!  I  must 
try  to  get  the  better  of  this.  Her  looks  say,  'I 
will  not  like  you,  I  am  determined  not  to  like 
you;'  and  I  say  she  shall." 

"Foolish  fellow!  And  so  this  is  her  attraction 
after  all!  This  it  is,  her  not  caring  about  you, 
which  gives  her  such  a  soft  skin,  and  makes  her 
so  much  taller,  and  produces  all  these  charms  and 
graces !  I  do  desire  that  you  will  not  be  making 
her  really  unhappy;  a  little  love,  perhaps,  may 
animate  and  do  her  good,  but  I  will  not  have  you 
plunge  her  deep,  for  she  is  as  good  a  little 
creature  as  ever  lived,  and  has  a  great  deal  of 
feeling." 

"It  can  be  but  for  a  fortnight,"  said  Henry; 
"and  if  a  fortnight  can  kill  her,  she  must  have  a 
constitution  which  nothing  could  save.  No,  I  will 
not  do  her  any  harm,  dear  little  soul!  I  only 
want  her  to  look  kindly  on  me,  to  give  me  smiles 
as  well  as  blushes,  to  keep  a  chair  for  me  by  her- 
self wherever  we  are,  and  be  all  animation  when 
I  take  it  and  talk  to  her;  to  think  as  I  think,  be 
interested  in  all  my  possessions  and  pleasures, 
try  to  keep  me  longer  at  IMansfield,  and  feel 
when  I  go  away  that  she  shall  be  never  happy 
again.  I  want  nothing  more." 
I"  328] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

"Moderation  itself!"  said  JNIary.  "I  can  have 
no  scruples  now.  Well,  you  will  have  oppor- 
tunities enough  of  endeavouring  to  recommend 
yourself,  for  we  are  a  great  deal  together." 

And  without  attempting  any  further  remon- 
strance, she  left  Fanny  to  her  fate,  a  fate  which, 
had  not  Fanny's  heart  been  guarded  in  a  way 
unsuspected  by  Miss  Crawford,  might  have  been 
a  little  harder  than  she  deserved;  for  although 
there  doubtless  are  such  unconquerable  young 
ladies  of  eighteen  (or  one  should  not  read  about 
them)  as  are  never  to  be  persuaded  into  love 
against  their  judgment  by  all  that  talent,  man- 
ner, attention,  and  flattery  can  do,  I  have  no 
inclination  to  believe  Fanny  one  of  them,  or  to 
think  that  with  so  much  tenderness  of  disposition, 
and  so  much  taste  as  belonged  to  her,  she  could 
have  escaped  heart-whole  from  the  courtship 
(though  the  courtship  only  of  a  fortnight)  of 
such  a  man  as  Crawford,  in  spite  of  there  being 
some  previous  ill  opinion  of  him  to  be  overcome, 
had  not  her  affection  been  engaged  elsewhere. 
With  all  the  security  which  love  of  another  and 
dis-esteem  of  him  could  give  to  the  peace  of  mind 
he  was  attacking,  his  continued  attentions — con- 
tinued, but  not  abusive,  and  adapting  themselves 
more  and  more  to  the  gentleness  and  delicacy 
of  her  character — obliged  her  very  soon  to  dis- 
like him  less  than   formerly.     She  had  by   no 

[329] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

means  forgotten  the  past,  and  she  thought  as  ill 
of  him  as  ever;  but  she  felt  his  powers:  he  was 
entertaining;  and  his  manners  were  so  improved, 
so  polite,  so  seriously  and  blamelessly  polite,  that 
it  was  impossible  not  to  be  civil  to  him  in  return. 

A  very  few  days  were  enough  to  effect  this; 
and  at  the  end  of  those  few  days,  circumstances 
arose  which  had  a  tendency  rather  to  forward 
his  views  of  pleasing  her,  inasmuch  as  they  gave 
her  a  degree  of  happiness  which  must  dispose  her 
to  be  pleased  with  everybody.  William,  her 
brother,  the  so  long  absent  and  dearly  loved 
brother,  was  in  England  again.  She  had  a  let- 
ter from  him  herself,  a  few  hurried  lines,  writ- 
ten as  the  ship  came  up  Channel,  and  sent  into 
Portsmouth  with  the  first  })oat  that  left  the  Ant- 
werp at  anchor  in  Spithead ;  and  when  Crawford 
walked  up  with  the  newspaper  in  his  hand,  which 
he  had  hoped  would  bring  the  first  tidings,  he 
found  her  trembling  with  joy  over  this  letter, 
and  listening  with  a  glowing,  grateful  counte- 
nance to  the  kind  invitation  which  her  uncle  was 
most  collectedly  dictating  in  reply. 

It  was  but  the  day  before,  that  Crawford  had 
made  himself  thoroughly  master  of  the  subject, 
or  had  in  fact  become  at  all  aware  of  her  having 
such  a  brother,  or  his  being  in  such  a  ship,  but 
the  interest  then  excited  had  been  very  properly 
lively,  determining  him  on  his  return  to  town  to 
[330] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

apply  for  information  as  to  the  probable  period 
of  the  Antwerp's  return  from  the  Mediter- 
ranean, &c. ;  and  the  good  luck  which  attended 
his  early  examination  of  ship  news  the  next  morn- 
ing, seemed  the  reward  of  his  ingenuity  in  find- 
ing out  such  a  method  of  pleasing  her,  as  well 
as  of  his  dutiful  attention  to  the  Admiral,  in  hav- 
ing for  many  years  taken  in  the  paper  esteemed 
to  have  the  earliest  naval  intelligence.  He 
proved,  however,  to  be  too  late.  All  those  fine 
first  feelings,  of  which  he  had  hoped  to  be  the 
exciter,  were  already  given.  But  his  intention, 
the  kindness  of  his  intention,  was  thankfully 
acknowledged :  quite  thankfully  and  warmly,  for 
she  was  elevated  beyond  the  common  timidity  of 
her  mind  by  the  flow  of  her  love  for  William. 

This  dear  William  would  soon  be  amongst 
them.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  his  obtaining 
leave  of  absence  immediately,  for  he  was  still 
only  a  midshipman ;  and  as  his  parents,  from  liv- 
ing on  the  spot,  must  already  have  seen  him,  and 
be  seeing  him  perhaps  daily,  his  direct  holidays 
might  with  justice  be  instantly  given  to  his  sister, 
who  had  been  his  best  correspondent  through  a 
period  of  seven  years,  and  the  uncle  who  had 
done  most  for  his  support  and  advancement; 
and  accordingly  the  reply  to  her  reply,  fixing  a 
very  early  day  for  his  arrival,  came  as  soon  as 
possible;  and  scarcely  ten  days  had  passed  since 

[331] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

Fanny  had  been  in  the  agitation  of  her  first  din- 
ner visit,  when  she  found  herself  in  an  agitation 
of  a  higher  nature,  watching  in  the  hall,  in  the 
lobby,  on  the  stairs,  for  the  first  sound  of  the  car- 
riage which  was  to  bring  her  brother. 

It  came  happily  while  she  was  thus  waiting; 
and  there  being  neither  ceremony  nor  fearful- 
ness  to  delay  the  moment  of  meeting,  she  was 
with  him  as  he  entered  the  house,  and  the  first 
minutes  of  exquisite  feeling  had  no  interruption 
and  no  witnesses,  unless  the  servants  chiefly  in- 
tent upon  opening  the  proper  doors  could  be 
called  such.  This  was  exactly  what  Sir  Thomas 
and  Edmund  had  been  separately  conniving  at, 
as  each  proved  to  the  other  by  the  sympathetic 
alacrity  with  which  they  both  advised  Mrs  Nor- 
ris's  continuing  where  she  was,  instead  of  rush- 
ing out  into  the  hall  as  soon  as  the  noises  of  the 
arrival  reached  them. 

William  and  Fanny  soon  shewed  themselves; 
and  Sir  Thomas  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving, 
in  his  protege,  certainly  a  very  different  person 
from  the  one  he  had  equipped  seven  years  ago, 
but  a  young  man  of  an  open,  pleasant  counte- 
nance, and  frank,  unstudied,  but  feeling  and  re- 
spectful manners,  and  such  as  confirmed  him  his 
friend. 

It  was  long  before  Fanny  could  recover  from 
the  agitating  happiness  of  such  an  hour  as  was 
[332] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

formed  by  the  last  thirty  minutes  of  expectation, 
and  the  first  of  fruition;  it  was  some  time  even 
before  her  happiness  could  be  said  to  make  her 
happy,  before  the  disappointment  inseparable 
from  the  alteration  of  person  had  vanished,  and 
she  could  see  in  him  the  same  William  as  before, 
and  talk  to  him,  as  her  heart  had  been  yearning 
to  do,  through  many  a  past  year.  That  time, 
however,  did  gradually  come,  forwarded  by  an 
affection  on  his  side  as  warm  as  her  own,  and 
much  less  incumbered  by  refinement  or  self-dis- 
trust. She  was  the  first  object  of  his  love,  but 
it  was  a  love  which  his  stronger  spirits,  and  bolder 
temper,  made  it  as  natural  for  him  to  express  as 
to  feel.  On  the  morrow,  they  were  walking 
about  together  with  true  enjoyment,  and  every 
succeeding  morrow  renewed  a  tete-a-tete,  which 
Sir  Thomas  could  not  but  observe  with  com- 
placency, even  before  Edmund  had  pointed  it 
out  to  him. 

Excepting  the  moments  of  peculiar  delight, 
which  any  marked  or  unlooked-for  instance  of 
Edmund's  consideration  of  her  in  the  last  few 
months  had  excited,  Fanny  had  never  kno^vn  so 
much  felicity  in  her  life,  as  in  this  unchecked, 
equal,  fearless  intercourse  with  the  brother  and 
friend,  who  was  opening  all  his  heart  to  her,  tell- 
ing her  all  his  hopes  and  fears,  plans,  and  solici- 
tudes respecting  that  long  thought  of,  dearly 

[333] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

earned,  and  justly  valued  blessing  of  promotion; 
who  could  give  her  direct  and  minute  information 
of  the  father  and  mother,  brothers  and  sisters,  of 
whom  she  very  seldom  heard ;  who  was  interested 
in  all  the  comforts  and  all  the  little  hardships 
of  her  home,  at  Mansfield;  ready  to  think  of 
every  member  of  that  home  as  she  directed,  or  dif- 
fering only  by  a  less  scrupulous  opinion,  and 
more  noisy  abuse  of  their  aunt  Norris,  and  with 
whom  (perhaps  the  dearest  indulgence  of  the 
whole)  all  the  evil  and  good  of  their  earliest 
years,  could  be  gone  over  again,  and  every 
former  united  pain  and  pleasure  retraced  with 
the  fondest  recollection.  An  advantage  this,  a 
strengthener  of  love,  in  which  even  the  conjugal 
tie  is  beneath  the  fraternal.  Children  of  the 
same  family,  the  same  blood,  with  the  same  first 
associations  and  habits,  have  some  means  of  en- 
joyment in  their  power,  which  no  subsequent 
connections  can  supply ;  and  it  must  be  by  a  long 
and  unnatural  estrangement,  by  a  divorce  which 
no  subsequent  connection  can  justify,  if  such 
precious  remains  of  the  earliest  attachments  are 
ever  entirely  outlived.  Too  often,  alas!  it  is 
so.  Fraternal  love,  sometimes  almost  every- 
thing, is  at  others  worse  than  nothing.  But  with 
William  and  Fanny  Price  it  was  still  a  sentiment 
in  all  its  prime  and  freshness,  wounded  by  no 
opposition  of  interest,  cooled  by  no  separate  at- 
[334] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

tachment,  and  feeling  the  influence  of  time  and 
absence  only  in  its  increase. 

An  affection  so  amiable  was  advancing  each 
in  the  opinion  of  all  who  had  hearts  to  value 
anything  good.  Henry  Crawford  was  as  much 
struck  with  it  as  any.  He  honoured  the  warm- 
hearted, blunt  fondness  of  the  young  sailor, 
which  led  him  to  say,  with  his  hands  stretched 
towards  Fanny's  head,  "Do  you  know,  I  begin 
to  like  that  queer  fashion  alreadj^  though  when 
I  first  heard  of  such  things  being  done  in  Eng- 
land, I  could  not  believe  it ;  and  when  Mrs  Brown, 
and  the  other  w^omen,  at  the  Commissioner's  at 
Gibraltar,  appeared  in  the  same  trim,  I  thought 
they  were  mad;  but  Fanny  can  reconcile  me  to 
anything;"  and  saw,  with  lively  admiration,  the 
glow  of  Fanny's  cheek,  the  brightness  of  her  eye, 
the  deep  interest,  the  absorbed  attention,  while 
her  brother  was  describing  any  of  the  imminent 
hazards,  or  terrific  scenes,  which  such  a  period,  at 
sea,  must  supply. 

It  was  a  picture  which  Henry  Crawford  had 
moral  taste  enough  to  value.  Fanny's  attrac- 
tions increased — increased  two-fold;  for  the 
sensibility  which  beautified  her  complexion  and 
illumined  her  countenance  was  an  attraction  in 
itself.  He  was  no  longer  in  doubt  of  the  cap- 
abilities of  her  heart.  She  had  feeling,  genuine 
feeling.     It  would  be  something  to  be  loved  by 

[335] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

such  a  girl,  to  excite  the  first  ardours  of  her 
young,  unsophisticated  mind !  She  interested  him 
more  than  he  had  foreseen.  A  fortnight  was 
not  enough.     His  stay  became  indefinite. 

Wilham  was  often  called  on  by  his  uncle  to  be 
the  talker.  His  recitals  were  amusing  in  them- 
selves to  Sir  Thomas,  but  the  chief  object  in  seek- 
ing them  was  to  understand  the  recitor,  to  know 
the  young  man  by  his  histories;  and  he  listened 
to  his  clear,  simple,  spirited  details  with  full  satis- 
faction, seeing  in  them  the  proof  of  good  princi- 
ples, professional  knowledge,  energy,  courage, 
and  cheerfulness,  everything  that  could  deserve 
or  promise  well.  Young  as  he  was,  William  had 
already  seen  a  great  deal.  He  had  been  in  the 
Mediterranean ;  in  the  West  Indies ;  in  the  Medi- 
terranean again;  had  been  often  taken  on  shore 
by  the  favour  of  his  captain,  and  in  the  course 
of  seven  years  had  known  every  variety  of  dan- 
ger which  sea  and  war  together  could  offer. 
With  such  means  in  his  power  he  had  a  right  to 
be  listened  to;  and  though  Mrs  Norris  could  fid- 
get about  the  room,  and  disturb  everybody  in 
quest  of  two  needlefuls  of  thread  or  a  second- 
hand shirt  button,  in  the  midst  of  her  nephew's  ac- 
count of  a  shipwreck  or  an  engagement,  every- 
body else  was  attentive;  and  even  Lady  Bertram 
could  not  hear  of  such  horrors  unmoved,  or  with- 
out sometimes  lifting  her  eyes  from  her  work  to 
[336] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

say,  "Dear  me!  how  disagreeable!  I  wonder  any- 
body can  ever  go  to  sea." 

To  Henry  Crawford  they  gave  a  different 
feehng.  He  longed  to  have  been  at  sea,  and 
seen  and  done  and  suffered  as  much.  His  heart 
was  warmed,  his  fancy  fired,  and  he  felt  the  high- 
est respect  for  a  lad  who,  before  he  was  twenty, 
had  gone  through  such  bodily  hardships,  and 
given  such  proofs  of  mind.  The  glory  of  hero- 
ism, of  usefulness,  of  exertion,  of  endurance, 
made  his  own  habits  of  selfish  indulgence  appear 
in  shameful  contrast;  and  he  wished  he  had  been 
a  William  Price,  distinguishing  himself  and 
working  his  way  to  fortune  and  consequence 
with  so  much  self-respect  and  happy  ardour,  in- 
stead of  what  he  was ! 

The  wish  was  rather  eager  than  lasting.  He 
was  roused  from  the  reverie  of  retrospection  and 
regret  produced  by  it,  by  some  inquiry  from 
Edmund  as  to  his  plans  for  the  next  day's  hunt- 
ing; and  he  foimd  it  was  as  well  to  be  a  man  of 
fortune  at  once  with  horses  and  grooms  at  his 
command.  In  one  respect  it  was  better,  as  it 
gave  him  the  means  of  conferring  a  kindness 
where  he  wished  to  oblige.  With  spirits,  cour- 
age, and  curiosity  up  to  anything,  William  ex- 
pressed an  inclination  to  hunt;  and  Crawford 
could  mount  him  without  the  slightest  incon- 
venience to  himself,  and  with  only  some  scruples 

[337] 


MANSFIELD    PARK 

to  obviate  in  Sir  Thomas,  who  knew  better  than 
his  nephew  the  value  of  such  a  loan,  and  some 
alarms  to  reason  away  in  Fanny.  She  feared 
for  William;  by  no  means  convinced  by  all  that 
he  could  relate  of  his  own  horsemanship  in  various 
countries,  of  the  scrambling  parties  in  which  he 
had  been  engaged,  the  rough  horses  and  mules 
he  had  ridden,  or  his  many  narrow  escapes  from 
dreadful  falls,  that  he  was  at  all  equal  to  the 
management  of  a  high-fed  hunter  in  an  Eng- 
lish fox-chase ;  nor  till  he  returned  safe  and  well, 
without  accident  or  discredit,  could  she  be  rec- 
onciled to  the  risk,  or  feel  any  of  that  obligation 
to  Mr  Crawford  for  lending  the  horse,  which 
he  had  fully  intended  it  should  produce.  When 
it  was  proved,  however,  to  have  done  William  no 
harm,  she  could  allow  it  to  be  a  kindness,  and 
even  reward  the  owner  with  a  smile  when  the 
animal  was  one  minute  tendered  to  his  use  again ; 
and  the  next,  with  the  greatest  cordiality,  and  in 
a  manner  not  to  be  resisted,  made  over  to  his  use 
entirely  so  long  as  he  remained  in  Northamp- 
tonshire. 


[338] 


:iaiki 


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